Proving Ground – Auror Academy
by sunstarunicorn
Summary: Having made the choice to stay in the Auror Division, Team One has a second set of evaluations to take. But Madame Locksley has another idea in mind: a week of training at Canada's Auror Academy with the best young cadets the wizarding world has to offer. 37th in the It's a Magical Flashpoint series.
1. Magic-Side Evaluations

**_Chapter One: Magic-Side Evaluations_**

Author note: This story is the thirty-seventh in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Will to Act".

Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_, _Harry Potter_, _Narnia_, or _Merlin_.

* * *

Commander Holleran surveyed his top team, resisting the urge to ask if they were _sure_ they wanted to stay in the Auror Division – or if they'd collectively taken a few too many hits to the head to think straight. As far as Holleran was concerned, the Head Unspeakable's promise – that the Canadian Division of Mysteries would not harm or detain Sergeant Parker's young charges – should have settled the matter. After all, why should his top team continue to work magic-side when the wizarding world had made their opinion of non-magicals – and anyone else who was different from them – quite clear?

And yet, inexplicably and seemingly in defiance of all reason, Team One had just voted to keep their Auror badges – and all the attendant hassles and headaches that came with them. The tall commander wearily rubbed his face, wondering if he could get away with _ordering_ them to give up the blasted badges. He knew he wouldn't though; his men had sacrificed too much proving themselves on the magical side of the fence for him to take their Auror badges away from them now.

"All right," he sighed, not bothering to hide his opinion from Team One. "I'll contact Commander Locksley and arrange for your classified evals."

"Thank you, sir," Sergeant Parker replied.

Holleran gave his Sergeant a long look, letting the negotiator see just how _unhappy_ he was at the moment. "Don't thank me, Sergeant," was all he said before walking out of the briefing room and back to his office.

* * *

"I take it they've made their decision?" Madame Locksley inquired, an undertone of expectancy in her voice.

Alone in his office, Commander Holleran decided to lay a few things out for his fellow commander; what Team One didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Not to mention he didn't appreciate Locksley's smug 'I knew they would stay' attitude.

"They have, but I believe I have a thing or two to say first," Holleran ground out, letting his displeasure ring out loud and clear. "A question first though: how often have you and Constable Braddock interacted – on a _personal_ level – since your discovery that he's your nephew?"

The hesitation was answer enough. "I don't believe that's any of your…"

"Yes, it is," Holleran cut her off. "You're quick to take advantage of my people's talents when it suits you, _Commander_ Locksley, but you're none too quick to give anything back." Brown eyes narrowed under his glasses. "You _knew_ perfectly well how much stress Sergeant Parker was already under, but you didn't even give him or his charges so much as a day's grace once you found out the Calvins were 'Wild Mages', whatever that's supposed to mean."

"The law is the law, Commander Holleran," Locksley bit back.

"Yes," Holleran drawled, his sarcasm clear. "Giving my Sergeant and his family an extra day or two to recover is _such_ a violation of your world's laws." The lanky black commander let that hang a moment, then leaned forward, as if the woman on the other end of the phone was actually in his office.

"And while we're on the topic, shall we _discuss_ why one of my constables was arrested by a _foreign_ Auror in _my_ station? Why he was dragged off to Britain for what amounted to a show trial? Sergeant Parker informed me afterwards that Constable Wordsworth could have ended up in your Azkaban prison for the rest of his life. And all for the 'crime' of being born without magic." Holleran left a few details out; he had no idea if Locksley knew them, but he no longer trusted the woman at all, never mind with anything that could be used against his constable.

"_I_ had nothing to do with that debacle," Locksley protested.

"Nothing to do with it?" Holleran questioned. "You certainly didn't; your Auror Onasi was far more willing to help Constable Wordsworth than _you_ were." He smiled grimly at the silence from the witch.

"When I agreed to permit Team One to continue working with your division, it was with the understanding that, aside from the fact that my people do not have magic, they would be treated as fellow Aurors, with all the benefits that entails. Tell me, Commander Locksley, if even half of what's been done to my top team had been done to any other Auror Squad, would you have permitted it?"

Her response sounded as if it had been dragged up from the depths. "No," Madame Locksley whispered, "I would not have." She cleared her throat. "If my _nephew_ had had magic, I would have welcomed him back into my family, I would have been proud to introduce him to my husband and daughter."

"Continue," Holleran growled when she hesitated. He was going to _make_ her face the reality that his team had _not_ been treated as equals, that they'd been held to higher standards than _any_ of her other Aurors. That she herself had shunned a member of her own family simply because he didn't have magic.

Reluctance coated every word. "If your Sergeant had been magical, I still would have held that press conference about his charges being Wild Mages, but you are correct; it would not have been that day."

"And Wordsworth?"

Her laugh was harsh, bitter. "It would not have been an issue, Commander Holleran. As you say, he was put on trial precisely _because_ he does not have magic."

"Then you see my reservations." They were _far_ more than reservations; now that he'd said his piece, he was wondering why he'd even _entertained_ the notion of _allowing_ his top team to continue working for a woman who treated them more as tools than as fellow human beings.

"You don't _want_ them to keep working magic-side, do you?"

"No, I don't," Holleran confirmed. "Particularly not now with Dr. Toth scrutinizing every one of their hot calls." He drew a deep breath. "To be perfectly blunt, ma'am, my team passed their tech-side evaluations and remain cleared for duty, but they can only take so much stress. If they aren't near their limits now, they will be _soon_, particularly since every time they're on _your_ side of the fence, they have to fight for every scrap of respect they get. And not just once, either, do they? No, my team has to be _twice_ as good as your other Aurors, just so _you_ people will think they're _just_ as good.

"I won't see my best officers broken by the impossible expectations of the wizarding world, Commander. I won't sign off on letting them take your magic-side evaluations until you can _prove_ to me that my team will get the respect they've earned."

"In the eyes of some of my Aurors, they haven't earned _any_ respect, Commander Holleran," Madame Locksley countered.

Holleran's eyes narrowed again. "And why is that?"

"It is partially my own fault, I admit," came the startling answer. "Every Auror in my division, with the exception of one man and two units, has attended the Auror Academy."

Thoughtfully, Holleran rubbed his chin, drawing the logical conclusion. "Team One, Team Three, and Detective Lane."

"Precisely."

"I can't justify taking my top team off-duty for months," Holleran informed Locksley, though his voice was less hostile than it had been.

"Perhaps a week?" Locksley inquired. "It's unlikely to satisfy the hardliners in my division, but most of my Aurors do respect that fact that your team essentially works two jobs, both in law enforcement. They would understand why your team cannot attend the Academy for the full three years; perhaps we can also arrange another training week in the future."

Yes, Holleran mused, that could work out quite well. "Periodic training," he rumbled, warming to the idea.

"Just so," Locksley agreed. She hesitated. "They may…not receive the warmest welcome at the Academy, though."

Holleran paused, reading between the lines with ease. However… "Madame Locksley, I am not completely senseless to the fact that my team is breaking new ground with each hot call they take in your world. Resistance to new ideas is inevitable. And a week of training may be just the thing to give my team a badly needed break from recent events."

"I am willing to accept their week of training as fulfilling the requirements of their magic-side evaluation," Madame Locksley offered, sweetening the pot.

The commander considered, drumming his fingers on his desk. "Then, I am willing to sign off on Team One requalifying in the wizarding world…for now."

* * *

Greg poked his head into Commander Holleran's office, surprised that his commander had managed to make the arrangements so quickly. His stomach twisted, just a bit; he'd hoped his team would have a least another day's reprieve from the chaos that had become part and parcel of their daily lives.

"Come in, Sergeant," Holleran invited, though he didn't rise from his desk. He waited until Greg was sitting down before saying anything more. "I've spoken to Commander Locksley and we've decided on a slightly different route than straight requalification."

"Sir?"

Intent brown eyes met Greg's. "I'm taking your team off-duty for a week, starting next Monday. You'll spend the week at the Auror Academy, learning alongside this year's graduating class. At the end of the week, your team will be run through either a test or an obstacle course; which has yet to be determined; and you'll all requalify for another year."

Confusion shone. "Sir, I thought the Academy was strictly for wizards."

Holleran nodded, understanding Greg's unspoken question. "It still is, Sergeant." He looked down at his desk, then back up as his subordinate. "I'll be honest, Sergeant Parker; I'm not happy with your team's magic-side hot calls. And this has nothing to do with the fact that you and your team were forced to hide those calls from me and everything to do with the fact that your team is under enough stress, enough pressure, as it is."

Greg swallowed. "You expressed that to Commander Locksley." It was not a question.

"Yes, Sergeant, I did," Holleran confirmed. "Commander Locksley offered the Academy as a compromise; with any luck, your team will finally get some of the respect you've earned. If nothing else, your team gets a legitimate week off; blow off as much steam as you can, Sergeant."

"And Dr. Toth?" Parker inquired carefully.

"If he asks, I'll tell him that your classified duties called for a week of training to keep your skills up to snuff," Commander Holleran informed his subordinate.

"Yes, sir," Greg acknowledged. "Anything else?"

A rueful nod. "Madame Locksley suggested that your team should plan to stay on the Academy's grounds for the entire week. I told her that would be up to you, Sergeant."

Greg tilted his head. "I should probably check with Ed and Wordy before answering that."

"Fair enough, Sergeant," Holleran agreed. "Let me know before the end of the day."

"Copy that, Commander."

* * *

Though Parker kept Commander Holleran's reservations to himself, he laid the rest of their magic-side requirements out for his team, along with a few observations of his own. "The Academy is going to be all wizards, team, and none of them are going to know us – or what we can do. The tech-borns might, but the rest?"

"Not a chance," Sam drawled, earning a nod from his boss. "And they're all going to treat us like idiots, even the teachers."

"Won't be the first time," Lou pointed out. "You said most of the trainees we'll be working with are ones graduating this year, Boss?"

"That's right, Lou."

Spike whistled, following his friend's line of thought. "Guys, we can _prove_ to rookie Aurors that we know what we're doing."

"In a week?" Jules questioned skeptically.

"Better than nothing," Wordy countered. "I think Spike's right." The brunet considered, then added, "We've got a chance to get some _actual_ Auror training, too, not just a couple crash courses in magic and wizarding law."

Ed leaned back in his chair, listening to his teammates, but saying nothing; when Greg arched a brow at him, he shrugged. "It's one week, Boss; what's the worst that can happen?"

Spike and Lou gave their team leader looks of comic disbelief. "Now something _has_ to go wrong," Spike moaned theatrically.

"Never tempt the great god Murphy," Lou agreed, equally dismayed.

Their teammates snorted laughter and Greg took over. "So, are we staying on campus or commuting? This one's up to you guys; I can go either way." He paused. "Hands up for campus." Every hand in the room went up. "Okay, I'll inform Commander Holleran. Workout room unless we get a call out."

As he headed out of the briefing room, Parker decided to add a slight requirement to their room assignments…one that he hoped would keep his constables on the straight and narrow for the week.


	2. First Challenges

**_Chapter Two: First Challenges_**

Lou glanced around the heavily wooded area that served as the Canadian Auror Academy's campus. A squat, three story, gray stoned building dominated the one clearing in the wooded area, looking rather unfriendly; the gothic-style mansion loomed over Team One from behind its iron-wrought fence. As the team regarded the mansion, there was a low creak and the gates swung open by themselves.

"Okay, if there's a butler named Wadsworth waiting for us, I say we hightail it outta here," Spike quipped in Lou's ear.

Lou stifled his snigger. "Relax, Spike, we're armed," he teased back.

"Besides," Wordy whispered from right behind the two, "Pretty sure wizards don't use revolvers." The prankster smiled innocently as his teammates looked back at him. "They might use candlesticks, though."

Spike made a face at Wordy; the latter chuckled and nudged his teammates forward towards the door. Ahead of them, the Boss was reaching for the door handle when it was pushed open from the inside; Boss had to back-pedal to avoid being hit in the chest.

An enthusiastic young witch fairly bounced out the door, her long black hair tied in two pigtails, a spiked choker around her neck, her pouty lips a brilliant shade of red, and her eyes a pale gray color. "Ohmigosh, you're here!" she squealed, not noticing Parker's wince at her high-pitched voice. "I've been following you guys, like, forever!"

Lou swallowed a snort at the way Ed tensed up, but the witch promptly spotted Spike and descended with another squeal. "Did you _really_ disable a bomb with an _Erumpent Potion_ in it? That is so cool!"

Ed relaxed as he re-read the situation, even producing a smirk at the shell-shocked look on Spike's face as the witch continued to chatter at him, not even giving the bomb tech an opening as she gushed.

"Miss," the Boss stepped in, "I don't suppose you know the way to the dorms or the guest rooms?"

Mid-sentence, the witch cut off, turning away from Spike to give Sarge a quizzical look. "Ummm…"

"You'll have to forgive Amy," another voice drawled from the door. "She's been following your exploits with great interest."

The wizard leaning against the door sported light brown hair that swept back from his forehead in a widow's peak, falling to just above his shoulders, deep green eyes, and a lean frame. His smile was wry and full of mischief; even through his sarcasm, his affection for Amy was clear. She responded to his sarcasm by sticking her tongue out at him, earning her a low chuckle.

"I'm Neal," the wizard added, stepping down and offering a hand to Sergeant Parker. "The Headmaster asked me to show you lot around while the house-elves finish setting up your rooms."

"Finish setting up our rooms?" Lou questioned, one brow arching.

Neal's smirk grew. "It seems our august Headmaster wasn't expecting you to show up on time." The wizard swept a mock bow. "My congratulations for tweaking his tail even faster than I did."

"One of these days, the Headmaster's going to tie that tongue of yours into knots," Amy broke in, propping hands on hips.

"I count on it, Amy dear. It would make a nice change from him cozying up to me in an effort to suck up to my father," Neal returned wryly. "Now, if you would follow me, Aurors, and I'll introduce you to the madhouse." Amy pouted. Without turning, Neal remarked, "Amy, you can come _if_ you stop squealing and gushing over them; we _are_ trying to welcome them, not scare them away." As he finished speaking, Neal looked over his shoulder with a positively wicked grin on his face, not at all bothered by the glare Amy was giving him.

* * *

Ed was quietly grateful that the Auror Academy's layout wouldn't change on them, unlike the stories Lance had told them about Hogwarts – moving staircases, trick steps – and doors – secret passageways…talk about a navigation nightmare. The Academy was much simpler and straightforward. The dining area and most of the classrooms were on the first floor; the student dorms were on the second floor, along with a few more classrooms; and the guest rooms – as well as the Academy's library – were on the third floor.

Though the guest rooms normally went unused, Neal informed Team One, they'd been dusted and polished to a fine finish for Team One's benefit. As an additional precaution against any malicious pranks, the rooms had also been warded so that only the person assigned to the room could enter it.

"I pointed out that you lot might want to study together, so the Headmaster had the elves dust up one last room for a study room," Neal added, rapping his knuckles on the only door without a nametag on it. "Library's down this corridor and hang a right; you can take books out and bring 'em back to the study room if you like. Don't worry about taking them back; the elves'll handle that once you're all done with your week of training." One hand waved at the nametagged doors. "All the rooms should be ready now. Any questions?"

Amy opened her mouth to pepper Team One with questions and Neal silenced her with one pointed eyebrow. Greg cleared his throat. "Our schedules?" he inquired politely.

Neal snapped back to Team One, frowning. "I wasn't given any," the young wizard admitted, chagrin showing on his face. "Nor did I think to ask for any."

"I can go ask," Amy volunteered.

"And give our esteemed Headmaster the impression that I've neglected my duties?" Neal demanded, mock horror in his voice. More seriously, he added, "Amy, I wasn't even supposed to let you tag along." Looking back at Parker, he offered, "If there aren't any other questions, I'll go track down your schedules."

"That works," Greg agreed, subtly shifting so Amy couldn't get past him to pester Spike again. His maneuver turned out to be unnecessary since Neal towed the young witch along with him as he departed, speaking softly to her as they left. The Sergeant turned to his team. "Okay, let's get unpacked; I imagine we'll have to hit the ground running, so once you're unpacked, head for the study room."

As Team One acknowledged their Sergeant's orders, Ed couldn't help but notice that Sam and Jules had been assigned the end rooms…and that Greg's room was in the middle. He also noticed that Sam and Jules looked a bit…put out…by their room assignments, but he suspected his boss didn't care. Truth be told, neither did he.

* * *

Neal returned with a single schedule in hand and an exasperated expression on his face. "For today, you lot are basically with me," the green-eyed wizard explained. "You'll get individualized schedules tomorrow morning, once the instructors have a better idea of your skill level."

"So what's wrong?" Ed pressed.

The lanky wizard made a face. "Everyone knows you lot don't have magic, but my afternoon class today is all practical." He paused, thinking his statement over, and his expression turned chagrined. "Actually, every class is practical this time of year."

"Getting ready for tests?" Lou asked curiously.

Neal nodded, looking the schedule in his hand over again. "This time of year, everyone spends one week on the same subject, all practical, and the classes rotate by week. You'll probably get divided up tomorrow, but some of the classes are all day, so…not today."

Team One traded looks. "So, we're joining classes that are close to being done?" Sam pressed. When Neal nodded again, the sniper sighed, brushing a hand through his hair and giving his boss a significant look.

Parker grimaced, understanding. The odds of Team One successfully keeping up with wizards at the end of a three year program were fairly low, but they'd have to do their best. On the other hand, Team One _did_ have practical experience that the trainees didn't…

"We'll manage," Jules informed their guide, surprising Sam and Sarge. "Won't be the first time we've been treated like idiots because we don't have magic. Won't be the first time we've had to figure things out as we go along, either."

"Yes, I've heard about that," Neal drawled, leading them out of the study room and towards the stairs. "My father's one of the best Healers at St. Mungo's and he's friends with most of the upper rank Aurors. He gets all the _good_ gossip." He frowned, searching for the right words. "Thing is, I don't think the Headmaster _wants_ you to finish this week of training and he knows none of you've been trained in how to duel."

Jules winced. It was true; since Team One didn't have the magic needed for dueling, they hadn't been trained in dueling beyond knowing which curses to avoid at all costs. The brunette constable put aside her annoyance at the room assignments; right now, she _needed_ to focus on whatever the wizard instructors threw at her team.

They were expected; extra desks had been added to the back of the classroom Neal guided them to. The students already present in the classroom craned their necks, curiosity and no small amount of hostility in their eyes. Jules picked a desk, settling herself in between Lou and Wordy, and pulled her pen and notebook out of her backpack. Her teammates did likewise, all of them determined to start out on the best foot possible.

The instructor swept in, his robes billowing as he moved. Long black hair fell down to the man's shoulders, shiny in the light of the room. He was average sized and stocky, with a surprising litheness to his movements. The wizard turned to face his class, his gaze stern and controlled.

Though Jules saw a hint of distaste when the wizard regarded Team One, he kept that distaste out of his voice. "Welcome to another class," he rumbled in a deep, almost echoing voice. "Today we will continue with free-style dueling; as I've often said, practice is the key to surviving in our chosen profession." Dark eyes shifted to Team One. "Our guests will join the rotation at the back of the line; duels will be to disarm or one minute."

Team One had time to tuck their classroom materials away as the instructor cleared the room and rapidly engaged his students in a series of practice duels. Jules was grateful for Sarge's insistence that his team bring their Narnian armor to the Academy instead of their regular uniforms. Without magic of their own, the techies were sitting ducks in a duel, but the Narnian armor gave the team a few extras the wizards wouldn't be prepared for.

Jules was the first to join the dueling and she was pitted against one of two witches in the class. The witch, who sported blonde hair tinted purple, took her position, wand in a loose, lazy grasp. Light blue eyes were contemptuous, something that only riled Jules; the witch expected to win – and easily at that. The constable shifted to a hand-to-hand stance and braced her feet.

"Begin!"

Of _course_ the instructor was hovering, Jules thought irritably. A bolt of red leapt at Jules and she ducked to the side, letting it skim past her torso. Without skipping a beat, Jules darted forward, twisting away from a pair of bracketed Stunners. A _Reducto_ forced Jules to tuck and roll. The constable took advantage of the move to hook one foot behind the blonde's ankle; the witch tumbled to the ground with a squawk of indignation and lost her wand bare moments later as Jules kicked it out of her hand.

"What was _that_?" the instructor roared, stomping towards the pair as Jules gave her former opponent a hand up.

Jules turned, her eyes spitting sparks. "A hand-to-hand takedown, _sir_."

"There will be no Muggle dueling in my class," the wizard hissed angrily, looming over the shorter, slimmer Jules.

"I thought you said this class was meant to prepare your students for the real world," Jules retorted, refusing to back down. "The real world's not _just_ magical dueling with no sucker punches or hand-to-hand fighting; criminals are going to use anything they can to get away, regardless if it's magic or a kick to the gut."

"Besides," Neal drawled from the sidelines before any of Jules' teammates could speak, "Auror Callaghan doesn't _have_ magic; how else did you expect her to duel, hmmm?"

There was a moment of furious silence, then the instructor growled. "The match goes to Lisette, due to Callaghan's use of Muggle tactics." Furious dark brown eyes bored into Jules. "Do not use your Muggle tactics again," the wizard spat, before walking away.

* * *

The rest of the class was just as bad. As the rest of Team One joined the duels, the instructor made it clear that they were required to use magic and magic _alone_, regardless of the fact that they didn't _have_ magic. The duels moved too quickly for the team to group up and decide on a strategy, so the team opted to duel defensively, dodging spells and using their armor to deflect any spells they couldn't dodge, with mixed results. They weren't singled out, but the instructor loudly observed that no one ever won a duel by fighting defensively and 'holding back'.

By the time classes were over for the day, the entire team was exhausted and frustrated, even without the 'makeup' work that had been piled on their shoulders for 'failing' to meet expected standards. Despite the exhaustion, they gathered in the study room to talk tactics. Ed took the lead with a grim, "Okay, looks like we found out how they plan to push us out."

"Impossible standards," Lou groaned, rolling one shoulder; he'd taken a spell to that shoulder and the instructor had barely even glanced at the injury before sending Lou into another practice match.

"We have three options," their Sergeant observed from his position; he was leaning against an empty bookcase, looking just as tired as the rest of his team. "I know no one wants to hear it, but we _do_ have the option of walking away from this."

"Commander Holleran would be happy with that one," a subdued Spike pointed out from his seat at the table, letting his head drop down on his folded arms.

"Yes, he would be," Parker agreed. "Option two: we keep 'holding back' and playing by their rules."

"That's how Lou got hurt," Wordy protested, earning nods from Jules and Sam.

"I said it was an option, Wordy, not that I liked it," Sarge countered, his own taut frustration showing.

"I take it option three is pushing back hard?" Ed questioned.

"Yes," was the clipped one word confirmation. Sarge leaned forward, hazel eyes hardening into topaz. "Forget what _they_ want us to do; hit 'em hard and don't stop, no matter how loud the instructors squawk."

"They wanna push us around, they'll find out _just_ how much we can push back," Spike growled, bringing his head back up.

"One more thing," Parker continued, pushing himself away from the bookcase. "Outside of our rooms, we _stay_ together; no one goes anywhere alone, not even if you're ordered to. Armor at all times and if you have to leave the table during a meal, get a new drink and plate when you come back."

Spike raised a hand. "What about Switching Spells, Sarge? They could sneak us potions and we'd never know."

"Neal," Jules offered. "He seems like he's on our side and we're going to have to trust _somebody_ with magic."

Ed stepped in. "Okay, tomorrow morning, whoever gets down to breakfast first, either sit by Neal or ask him over."

No one argued, though Spike made a face; Neal would likely bring his fangirlish friend Amy along, something the bomb tech wasn't looking forward to. With everything that could be hashed out dealt with, the team dispersed to their rooms to get some sleep.

* * *

Lou and Wordy were the first members of Team One up and ready to brave the other Academy students the next morning. Accordingly, the two men headed downstairs and into the dining hall. A half-asleep Neal was sitting in the middle of an empty stretch of table with Amy right next to him. Wordy and Lou snapped up the two seats right across from the pair, ignoring the mutterings and murmurs from the trainees around them.

"Morning," Neal muttered as a number of platters nearby filled with food.

"Not a morning person?" Lou inquired sympathetically.

Neal shook his head slowly. "I have a lifelong dream to hunt down whoever invented mornings and gift them with the most painful death I can devise," the green-eyed wizard declared, striking a brief pose before his chin dropped down into his palm again and he buried a yawn; Amy covered her mouth, coughing loudly and Neal shot her a sleepy-eyed glare.

The techies snickered. "I think every kid ever born has had the same ambition," Wordy teased, grabbing a roll and cutting it in half. "My girls hate mornings, too."

Lou examined the contents of his goblet and shuddered. "Tell me they've got plain water instead of this pumpkin juice stuff."

Amy vanished for a minute, then came back with a pitcher and a fresh goblet. "The house-elves usually fill everyone's goblet with juice for the first couple of days, then they figure out what you like," she explained.

Wordy eyed the pitcher. "Could one of you…check that?"

Neal and Amy looked at each other, wide-eyed, then Neal's eyes narrowed. "Amyz, you're better at detection spells than I am."

Amy blinked, still not following; Neal sighed and made two quick motions with his hands that looked like sign language. "Ohhh!" Amy immediately exclaimed. She set the pitcher and goblet down, then pulled her wand and flicked it over both in a quick diagnostic. Neither glowed, but Amy added a second spell, then nodded to herself. "That should keep anyone from messing with the water now." She bit her lip, glancing at Wordy. "Um, Auror Wordsworth, I can do the same for your goblet if you want."

Wordy checked his goblet and shook his head. "Where do you get the fresh goblets?" he asked, starting to stand.

Ed shoved him back down on the bench from behind. "No going anywhere alone, Wordy," he chided at his friend's askance expression. "Sam and I can get 'em," he added, giving Amy an expectant look.

"I'll show you," Neal volunteered. "We're going to need another pitcher anyway. Amyz, can you do the same thing on the plates?"

"Sure thing," Amy chirped, regaining her enthusiastic cheer, though perhaps that had more to do with Spike sliding onto the bench next to Lou than with Neal asking for her help.

* * *

Only a few trainees other than Neal and Amy were willing to sit near Team One; all of them were obviously Neal and Amy's friends. The wizards talked and laughed with each other, but largely ignored Team One. Neal departed after finishing his meal and came back with Team One's schedules for the week. He passed them out, then flopped back into his seat with a dramatic groan that his friends laughed at.

One trainee, who'd introduced himself as Seaver Tasride, asked his friend, "So are they with you all week?"

Neal looked up from the after-breakfast cookie he'd nabbed while his friends laughed at him. "Nah," the brunet replied, giving Seaver an impish grin. "Three of 'em are in _your_ class."

Seaver promptly thumped his head on the table as his yearmates roared with laughter. The wizard sported a dark complexion, with black hair and eyes to match. His hair was shorn to a buzzcut and he didn't have eyebrows at all; his face was surprisingly round given his lean frame, with a broad nose and deep-set eyes.

With a smirk, Neal drawled, "Treat 'em good, Seaver; they may not have magic, but my father told me they took down Nick Watson almost single-handedly."

The trainees close enough to hear him whistled and gave Team One a set of appraising looks. Seaver was unconvinced; he surveyed Team One with no enthusiasm whatsoever. "So which ones are mine?"

"What class are you in?" Lou countered at once.

Seaver scowled and Neal gifted him with a warning expression. The green-eyed wizard's friendliness dropped away as he stared Seaver down. "Stealth and Tracking," Seaver replied grudgingly after a few seconds.

"Hands up," Parker ordered his team.

Ed, Jules, and Sam's hands rose; Seaver eyed them skeptically, but was smart enough to keep his comments to himself.

Neal cleared his throat, regaining attention. "Amyz, try not to break 'em, but you get Scarlatti and Young."

Amy squealed and bounced while Spike's expression turned decidedly unenthused. Lou chuckled and jostled his friend with one shoulder, silently promising to intercede if Amy became _too_ enthusiastic. Spike gave Lou a wan smile, thanking him for the intercession.

"What about Auror Wordsworth and myself?" Sergeant Parker asked Neal.

Neal grinned tiredly. "You're with me again," he replied.

"Copy that," Wordy muttered, not looking forward to more hassling over their lack of magic.


	3. Stealth and Tracking

**_Chapter Three: Stealth and Tracking_**

After breakfast, Team One headed back to their rooms to pick up supplies, then met up with their three guides on the first floor. Seaver, looking none too enthused, led Sam, Ed, and Jules outside and over to a small cluster of trainees. Every last one of the other trainees edged away from the three techies, making it clear they wanted _nothing_ to do with the 'Muggles'.

"Small class," Sam observed thoughtfully, earning an agreeing smirk from Ed; counting Seaver, the Stealth and Tracking class had seven wizards, all of whom looked like they were only a few years out of school.

"We started with a lot more three years ago," Seaver remarked, keeping his voice low. "Anyone with good marks can apply to the Auror Academy; the trick is staying _in_."

"Gather 'round, gather 'round," the instructor called, arriving in one of the most outlandish sets of robes Jules had ever seen in the wizarding world. His robes were lime green, trimmed with white fur, and stitched with enough sequins that Jules had to wonder if the wizard was in need of a refresher course in his own subject. Atop perfectly coiffed brown locks, he wore a wizard's hat – also in lime green, with a large pearl on top – that was set at what the wizard probably thought was a jaunty angle; in reality, Jules suspected a good gust of wind would send the ridiculous hat flying.

The wizard struck a pose as his students clustered close; the three witches in the class sighed dreamily. "Again we sally forth," he declaimed grandly. "Our quest today is to track a magical creature which has kidnapped a Muggle woman." The instructor's voice turned dark and urgent as he fixed his students with an intense stare of what was apparently supposed to be great alarm and worry, but only made him look even more ridiculous. "The woman may still be alive, trainees, so speed is of the essence in your quest, but beware!" The witches gasped, the wizards leaned closer, and Jules resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Should this creature detect your presence, it will strike," the instructor warned, pacing back and forth in front of his audience. "The Muggle woman will certainly be killed and you yourselves will be _next_." Dramatics finally dropped away and the instructor reeled off the rest of their assignment. "We do not know what this creature is, but we do know that it is usually capable of concealing itself in the trees. Fortunately, several Muggle men attacked the creature in an effort to reclaim its victim; they injured it enough that it cannot climb. We will divide into four groups and track this monster to its lair. Once there, rescue the Muggle if possible and deal with the creature."

The instructor paused, waiting for questions, but there were none. Jules noticed that as soon as the man stopped talking, the other trainees had quickly divided themselves into pairs, leaving Seaver hanging. Seaver was scowling; he'd noticed the same thing.

"Well, as you have so astutely divided yourselves already, we shall begin!" the instructor declared cheerfully. "Each group must choose a leader; in the field is no place to have an authority contest. Tasride, you will lead your group."

Seaver's shoulders straightened, though Jules noticed Ed's scowl out of the corner of her eye. _So much for choosing the leader of _our_ group,_ Jules thought wryly, agreeing with her team leader's displeased glare. The instructor guided the other three groups away, calling over his shoulder, "Good luck young Tasride."

Ed waited until the wizards were out of earshot to arch a brow. "Tell me this is just a scenario."

Seaver snorted. " 'Course it is, Auror Lane. If something like this _really_ happened, the ICW would be all over the Ministry, screeching about the Statute of Secrecy." Glum, he looked around. "The tracks must start _somewhere_ around here, but…"

Jules winced; the milling trainees had left footprints enough to obscure even the best animal tracks. Sam moved away from the tangles of human tracks to examine the cleaner ground closer to the campus trees. Thinking a moment, Jules walked a parallel track, searching for any clues on her side of the clearing.

Behind them, she heard Ed telling Seaver to use his first name and asking if Seaver knew any spells to isolate animal tracks from human ones. She tuned out the response as she knelt, scanning the ground for anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing on the ground, but she did spot something on a nearby tree trunk. A clump of blackish hair…it was too thin to be fur.

"I might have something," Jules called; in seconds, her companions were hovering right behind her as she gestured to the clump of black.

Seaver's wand flicked over the hair and he nodded. "Should've remembered he likes to do that," the wizard muttered to himself as he stepped past the tree and scanned the ground. "You lot coming?" he asked, not noticing that Sam had already leapfrogged past him to look for more tracks – or that Jules and Ed were on his left and right.

Jules hid a smile at Sam's annoyed expression and Ed's exaggerated sigh.

* * *

Seaver frowned thoughtfully to himself, watching the Muggles work. For Muggles, they were much better at staying quiet than he'd expected and they seemed to have no problem with magic being used around them. The wizard was undeniably annoyed that his assigned leadership position had quickly been usurped by Lane, who was used to being in charge. Callaghan and Braddock, used to taking Lane's orders, had just as quickly accepted their usual team leader.

To Seaver's relief, the Muggles hadn't rubbed their victory in. Instead, they took the time to teach him several Muggle hand signals, allowing the group to track their quarry with a minimum amount of magic and sound. Nor did teaching him the signals slow them down; with four group members, they'd naturally divided into pairs and the Muggles were able to keep tracking the monster even as they eased him into using their unusual form of silent communication.

As the morning wore on, rain clouds rolled in. Seaver anticipated the Muggles' complaints about working in the rain, as well as feminine squeals from Callaghan…all the witches in his class _loathed_ getting their hair or clothes wet and tended to be _very_ loud about it. While the rain _did_ get a reaction, it was quite different from what Seaver had expected it to be.

Callaghan sighed to herself as the first raindrops fell and glanced up at the sky; she made a face at the low hanging clouds, but only muttered, "Good thing I'm wearing a ponytail today." She pulled the zipper on her Mugglish jacket higher and pressed one finger against something on the jacket's collar.

"Jules?" Braddock questioned, arching a brow at her actions.

"Didn't Lance show you how to keep rain out of our armor?" Callaghan asked lightly. When both of her teammates gave her blank looks, she snickered. "Oh, I am so teasing him about this the next time I see him. Pull the zipper all the way up," she coached, before pointing to what Seaver realized was a _rune_, stitched on the jacket's collar in silver thread. "On the left, right next to the zipper, there's a little symbol. Press down and when it warms up, let go. That seals the collar and keeps all the wet on the jacket's outside. Feels a little weird at first, but you get used to it."

"Nice," Braddock muttered appreciatively, following her instructions. "Keeps things a bit warmer."

"No kidding," Lane observed. Turning towards Seaver, he arched a brow. "You got a charm or something to keep the rain off you?"

Seaver just shook his head, burying his envy. What he wouldn't _give_ for a set of clothes that could keep the rain out like that; by the end of the day, he was going to be soaked to the _bone_. Then he spotted something that made him frown. "There's another web," he announced, pushing his hair out of his face and pointing to a tree just ahead of them.

The Muggles turned, Braddock slinking across to the tree; he glanced around, then waved the rest of them forward. "Good eyes," the Muggle murmured to Seaver. "Anything you can tell us about it?"

The dark-haired wizard examined the webbing, frowning deeper. "It's glowing, just a little," he whispered. "We're definitely not after an Acromantula (1) – their webs don't glow like this – but I don't know of any other spiders who attack humans."

Callaghan tapped one finger against her chin and reached past Seaver to touch the webbing; she grimaced as it clung to her fingers and attempted to hold her hand fast. It took some careful work with Lane's pocket knife to get her fingers loose from the web. "Okay, no touching," she joked weakly.

"An Acromantula's webbing doesn't do that, either," Seaver observed, worry in his eyes.

"Any idea of what might?" Braddock questioned; the wizard shook his head.

"Eyes open," Lane breathed. "Let's keep moving."

The group headed out, but Seaver noticed that Callaghan's eyes strayed back to the webbing. As though something about the webbing was vaguely familiar to her. But why would a magical creature be familiar to a Muggle?

* * *

When they found their quarry, it was nesting in a patch of forest that gave it good cover from all directions save one. Jules had to hastily grab Seaver and cover his mouth to keep him from screaming at the sight of a spider sporting a human head. Her teammates were just as horrified by the giant creature, which, in addition to its human head, was holding a nasty-looking double-bladed axe in its front leg. The human head had sharp teeth that looked like they were made of some kind of metal – silver, perhaps. Though Jules had never seen a creature like this one in person before, she knew exactly what it was.

The constable dragged Seaver behind a good-sized rock, her teammates following. Once in cover, she released the wizard and gave her teammates a grim look. "Spidren," she breathed.

"A _what_?" Seaver squeaked in a rather high-pitched voice; Sam hushed him before the thing could hear them.

Jules peeked over the rock, then slid back down. "It can't be real," she muttered, just loud enough for the men to hear her. "Spidrens are from a techie fantasy series and Sarge's kids had never heard of them when I asked."

Sam arched a brow. "What series is _that_?"

A shrug. "There's a whole raft of books about a fictional kingdom named Tortall; I read them growing up," Jules related. "Spidrens show up in the fifth book and they're…nasty, really, really nasty. But it fits with our evidence; spidren webs glow in the dark and once you get tangled, the webs will shape themselves to the victim, no matter what the victim does."

Seaver peered over the sheltering rock, swallowing hard. "I see the Muggle," he croaked. "She's dead."

Ed and Sam surged up; Jules yanked Ed back down – Sam was shorter and less likely to be seen by their quarry. "Sam?" she breathed.

"Confirmed," Sam grated out. "Victim's not moving and I see more spiders crawling on her."

Jules shivered with horror. "Gawd, Sam, this had _better_ be an illusion."

From her other side, Ed nodded grimly, anger glinting.

Instead of speaking, Sam worked his phone free and held it up, taking a picture. Then he turned and slid back down, rapidly opening the photo gallery so his teammates could see what he'd spotted. Seaver's expression turned curious, but Jules and Ed leaned in, inspecting the victim. Then Jules blanched, paling and struggling to keep down her breakfast, Ed swore in a low furious tone, and Seaver glanced between the picture on the screen and the enraged officers.

"What?"

"She looks like 'Lanna," Sam hissed. At the confusion in Seaver's eyes, the sniper added, "Our Boss's niece."

Seaver whimpered, then he crawled to the opposite side of their sheltering rock and threw up. Jules couldn't blame him; if not for her years of experience, she might've done the same. The officers traded grim looks, promising to _never_, _ever_ let their Boss know an image of his niece had been used to play the 'victim' in a training scenario right out of a horror film.

When Seaver was done being sick, he crawled back, still pale and unsteady. "I hate it when he does that," the young wizard moaned.

"He's done this _before_?" Sam hissed.

Seaver shrank back.

Jules reached out, resting a hand on the trainee's arm. "Seaver. We're not mad at you, but can you tell us what you know?" She gestured to Sam's phone. "In the 'Muggle' world, this would be a very serious crime, to use an image that looks like a real person in a training exercise."

"You don't do that," Ed agreed, tone low.

The young wizard swallowed hard. "I've heard stories. Nothing concrete, but everyone knows the Headmaster hates Muggles and he hired instructors who hate 'em too."

"What does that have to do with _that_?" Sam hissed, pointing towards the spidren.

"Let's just say the instructors like to push things a little," Seaver replied. "Nothing big, but it's…not fun when they do."

Jules frowned, wanting to follow up on _that_ tantalizing tidbit, but Ed shook his head. "Jules," he murmured, "How do we kill it?"

"Ed?" Sam questioned.

"We'll deal with the instructor later, Sam. Jules?"

Sam frowned, but nodded, accepting the team leader's call to postpone figuring out what kind of _mess_ they'd landed in _this_ time. He glanced at Jules, silently seconding Lane's question. In response, Jules shut her eyes, trying to recall everything she'd read about spidrens in the Tortall series. "Don't get close," she related. "They can use their web spinners to snag you and drag you in." Her brow furrowed. "Fire's the best way to kill them; don't get their blood on you – it burns like acid." Opening her eyes again, she finished, "They're intelligent, but they're vicious – trying to negotiate with one would be like putting out a 'Fresh Eats Here' sign."

Her teammates shuddered, but Ed looked thoughtful. "I wonder," he muttered, pulling out a clear jar from one of the equipment bags on his belt. "How long has this instructor been here?" he demanded.

Seaver blinked. "I don't know…years, prolly. Why?"

"Ed, is that?" Jules questioned, leaning forward.

Understanding, Ed nodded once. "Yeah."

Seaver cocked his head to the side, inspecting the jar and its yellow-orange contents as best he could. "What is it?"

"Blazebalm," Jules informed the wizard, earning a low, impressed whistle. "Can you light it up once Ed throws it?"

"Sure thing," Seaver promised, peeking over their sheltering rock again.

"Wait till it hits," Sam muttered as Ed moved sideways to get a clear shot.

Seaver nodded as the team leader hurled the jar as hard as he could at the spidren. It screeched as the jar smashed against it, shattering and spraying its contents all over the monster. Seaver didn't wait; he angled his wand, sending a jet of flames at the spidren. As soon as the spell hit, the thing wailed. Flames blazed over the spidren as the blazebalm caught fire, then the entire image froze. The edges of the image blackened, as though the spidren and its victim were part of a painting that they'd just set on fire. Then the image crumbled away as if it had never been.

Jules breathed a sigh of relief. Despite knowing that it _couldn't_ be real, she'd been on edge as soon as she saw Sam's picture of the spidren's victim. Then a distant scream brought the four around. "Angela!" Seaver cried, breaking from cover and racing towards the sound.

"Team One, scramble," Ed snapped, bolting after Seaver. "Who's got the two blazebalm jars."

"I do," Sam reported as they ran; Jules held up one finger to show she had their last jar.

"Okay, Sam, as soon as we get in range, toss it and let's hope Seaver's quick on the uptake," Ed ordered as they hustled after the wizard, cutting through the forest.

"Copy," Sam agreed fiercely, extending his stride to catch up with their wizard teammate.

As they broke through the trees, they spotted a spidren advancing on a pair of witches, both of whom were cowering against a tree and wailing for help. The blond sniper kept running as he pulled a jar of blazebalm from his belt and let it fly with a war whoop. Seaver's _Incendio_ struck just as the spidren turned to look, the axe in its leg slicing through a branch in its way.

As the two witches clung to Seaver, babbling thanks, another scream rang through the forest.

* * *

Seaver panted, leaning over and bracing his hands on his knees. Way too close, it had been way too close. If not for the Muggles… He cut off that thought, shuddering. Angela slipped up beside him, but her gaze stole past him to the three Muggles, none of them out of breath as they coolly checked over their equipment.

"Where'd they get blazebalm?"

Seaver shook his head – the recipe was an Auror-only potion, due to how volatile blazebalm tended to be. Gasping in enough air to speak, he said, "I just wanna know how they made that last jar blow up like that."

"Incendiary grenade."

Witch and wizard blinked at the blond Muggle. He twitched a grin and indicated several identical objects hanging from his belt.

Angela's expression turned scornful, but Seaver's eyes widened in awe. "You can do a Muggle _Incendio_ Charm?"

Braddock hiked one shoulder in a shrug. "Something like that." Glancing around, he asked, "So where's your instructor?" Anger lurked beneath the words and Seaver remembered how the Muggles had reacted to the spidren's victim. Blue came back, puzzlement shining. "And how come there were four spidrens out there?"

"One for each group," Callaghan replied before Seaver could, drawing her teammate's attention.

Feeling Braddock's gaze, Seaver nodded. Grimacing, the wizard answered the Muggle's other question. "We'll find out how we did tomorrow, Auror Braddock. _He_ hates the rain more than the girls do."

"Sounds very professional," Auror Lane remarked, sarcasm reeking. "We got everyone?"

Seaver glanced up, caught off guard by the cant to Lane's inquiry. The bald Auror was surveying all seven trainees, a protective glimmer in his eyes. "Yes, sir."

"Copy. Jules, Sam, rearguard. Seaver, see if anyone is injured. If they are, let us know."

Angela gawped as the Muggles moved off, organizing the group's return to the Academy. Seaver, though just as astonished, pushed up, straightening his shoulders. He wasn't about to let his Muggles down.

* * *

By the time the Stealth and Tracking class straggled back to the Academy, Team One was soaking wet despite their armor and the seven Auror trainees had acquired a bit more respect for Muggles in general and Team One in particular. Sam rather hoped his teammates had had an easier time with _their_ classes than he, Jules, and Ed had had; he was exhausted after a day of trekking through the rain and rescuing wizards who should've been able to defend themselves.

Ed took the lead as the three trooped into the dining hall and located their fellow Team One members. As the snipers sat down, Ed arched a brow at their teammates. "Well, we just killed four fictional monsters and saved six wannabe Aurors, how was _your_ day?"

Much to Sam's bemusement, Spike groaned and let his head thump against the table; Lou looked as if he'd like to join his best friend, but was too tired to move. Sarge and Wordy traded resigned looks, but didn't answer.

"That good, huh?"

* * *

[1] A giant, man-eating spider. They are sentient, with highly poisonous fangs.


	4. Potions and Cursebreaking

**_Chapter Four: Potions and Cursebreaking_**

Author note: I wish to extend another thank you and shout out to nebroadwe, who review/critiqued the last chapter and pointed out a few gaps and holes in my narrative. I have done my best to plug those holes; although the overall storyline has not changed, I have done some editing of the last chapter's final couple of scenes, if you wish to check that out.

* * *

Though Spike expected Amy to pepper him and Lou with questions, the raven-haired girl led them through the Academy's hallways without a word, playing with one of her pigtails as she walked. The two techies traded looks; they didn't have to be negotiators to know that something was bothering the young witch. She stopped at a hallway intersection, biting her lip uncertainly as she looked at them.

"Something wrong?" Lou inquired.

Amy hesitated, then, all in a rush, blurted, "You're really Aurors, right? If I tell you something, can you do anything?"

"If something's not right here, we can help," Lou reassured the trainee.

Amy's eyes dropped and one hand fiddled with her pigtail again. Without a word, she turned, pushing the back of her hair up out of the way; Spike stiffened at the large, misshapen purple scar on the back of her neck…it looked like someone had tossed acid on the witch. Before either Lou or Spike could say anything, she raised her voice and said brightly, "It's not that much further."

She set off again, determinedly keeping her eyes forward; the officers were forced to scramble to keep up with her quick pace. "What caused that?" Spike hissed in her ear.

But Amy didn't respond; she only led them to a classroom and ushered the two men inside without another word about what she'd shown them, a bright, but false smile pasted on her face.

* * *

As a lifelong lover of explosives, Spike had been especially intrigued by the idea of magical bombs, but he'd quickly discovered that, with a little creativity, almost any potion or spell could be warped and turned into an explosive far more deadly than most of the techie bombs the tech had learned to disarm. He'd also learned what few witches or wizards ever bother to realize; potions is a very subtle form of magic…without sufficient magic, even the best potions master couldn't craft his potions.

Then the goblins had gotten their hands on Babycakes and given Spike an end run around the magic requirement. With Babycakes, it hadn't mattered that Spike had not one _speck_ of magic to his name…his robot supplied all the magic he needed. But Spike knew that he didn't have enough spare time to research every potion and spell in existence, much less how they could be warped to create magical explosives. So he'd decided to leave the spells to Babycakes' database and only research the potions. He still couldn't make any potions to save his life, but he _had_ picked up more than a few tricks on how to disarm even the most deadly potions.

Given his self-taught knowledge of potions, watching the Academy potions instructor stalk around the class and berate Amy for not giving himself and Lou more to do was extremely irritating to Spike; did the instructor think he and Lou were idiots? Sure, he and Lou could – and were – preparing all the potion ingredients for Amy to use in their assigned potion, but without magic, they'd ruin the potion if Amy gave them a turn at the cauldron.

As the instructor moved away again, Spike tipped the next set of ingredients into the cauldron and double-checked their notes for what came next. Amy stirred eight times counterclockwise, then lifted the cauldron off the fire to cool for ten minutes. The surface of the potion turned a deep green, drawing a sigh from Amy.

"What is it?" Lou asked.

Spike answered for Amy. "It should've turned orange, not green, Lou."

Amy blinked in surprise. "You know potions?"

The constable shrugged sheepishly. "I _am_ Team One's bomb tech," he reminded the trainee. "Most magical bombs have at least one potion in them."

Lou frowned thoughtfully. "We've been following all the steps, so why's it off?"

Amy lowered her voice. "Contamination," she whispered. Both men pinned her with demanding looks and she ducked her head. "_He_ says we have to be able to brew, no matter what. There's no time in the field for ensuring perfect conditions and cauldrons, so we have to deal with what we get." Her expression turned mulish. "I could fix this with eye of newt and salamander blood, but we're not allowed."

Spike shuddered. "That's _dangerous_," he breathed, horror in his eyes. "And what's he talking about? Brewing potions in the field? _I've_ never heard of any one brewing in the field, not even when a couple girls went missing."

"Only at Headquarters," Lou agreed in an undertone. Then the tan-skinned man's eyes sharpened. "Is that how?" he questioned, subtly gesturing to his neck.

The witch huddled in on herself, her arms snaking around her torso as she hugged herself and rocked on her feet. She nodded once, dull eyes watching the potion. The rest of the ten minutes ticked by in silence, the two constables trading significant looks, then Amy moved the potion back to the fire and took Lou's cutting board to tip the next ingredient in.

Spike frowned at the hiss from the cauldron as the chopped valerian root hit the liquid. The bomb tech shifted position, watching the potion closely as Amy started stirring with a figure-eight motion, first clockwise, then counterclockwise. The potion started bubbling and a few sparks rose from the surface as Amy's stirring rod moved through the liquid.

Afterwards, he couldn't quite pinpoint the _exact_ moment he'd realized things were going sideways, just that he had. As Amy completed another pattern, Spike shoved Lou in one direction and hauled Amy away from the potion, shielding her with his own body. The tech cringed internally, but whirled back towards the cauldron, lifting his gauntlets up and praying they'd deflect the potion – or at least protect his eyes.

The surface of the cauldron exploded, spraying boiling liquid everywhere; the instructor threw up a shield to protect the other students, but Spike could've killed him for the move…the shield _deflected_ the potion right at Spike's face. Lou yelled, Amy screamed, and Spike flinched from the inevitable.

One eye peeked open, then Spike gasped in relief at the sight of emerald light forming a barrier between himself and the potion splashed across it. He looked to the side, one brow arching at the sight of Lou's gauntlets glittering with a steady bronze glow; the less lethal specialist pushed himself upright with an angry expression on his face. Glancing down, Spike's other brow sought to bury itself in his hairline when he realized it wasn't just his gauntlets that had reacted to the threat. His jacket had a faint emerald sheen curling around it; the same sheen swirled on the armor's leggings and his boots were giving off a steady green glow as well. Though the bomb tech couldn't see it, his leaf shaped belt buckle was lit up from within and the dancing emerald light made the buckle look alive – as if the buckle had been crafted from an actual tree leaf instead of silver metal and green enamel.

Spike turned to check on Amy; she was pale as a ghost but unharmed. Even so, Spike asked, "You okay?"

"Y-Yes," she stuttered, one hand rising to the back of her neck, where her hair hid the awful scar she'd shown the SRU officers earlier.

"Sloppy."

The bomb tech snapped back around, his jaw giving way in outrage and shock at the censure in the instructor's indifferent blue eyes. Amy's outrage rang out first. "The cauldron was contaminated," she burst out, furious tears showing in her eyes.

"Something a _skilled_ potions mistress should have been able to counter," the instructor sneered.

"How can I do that when we aren't allowed to retrieve any additional ingredients during class?" Amy argued.

"An Auror uses the tools at hand and succeeds _despite_ the obstacles in front of them."

"We don't go into the field with equipment that's not up to snuff," Lou interrupted, his anger glinting in his eyes. "A contaminated cauldron puts _everyone_ at risk, not just the potioneer. Refusing to let students fix a dangerous situation and insisting they _use_ compromised equipment is wrong."

The instructor puffed up in fury, but Spike let his own temper show in his set jaw and a deadly gleam in his eyes; at that precise moment, he would've taken the wizard apart without a qualm and the wizard knew it. After a few moments of silence, the instructor snapped, "Fine! Rebrew the potion according to _your_ 'exacting' standards. You'll have to make up the cursebreaking tomorrow."

"Gladly," Amy spat from her position behind Spike.

* * *

Lou took care of scrubbing the cauldron out as Spike snagged a nearby stool and thrust Amy down onto it. "In and out," Spike coached as Amy's breathing quickened. "Just breathe."

Tears filled the young witch's eyes. "You…you could've been _killed_," she gasped out; Spike winced. "You could've been blinded, you could've…"

"But I wasn't," Spike interrupted, cutting her off before she could build up any more steam or come up with any more charming scenarios. The bomb tech rubbed a hand through his hair, letting the silence hang as Amy slowly got her breath back. "Look," he began, fixing the trainee with a serious expression. "If you're gonna be a cop…Auror…whatever, you've got to know that your first priority is saving lives."

Tentative pale brown eyes lifted to meet his. "By risking _your_ life?"

"If you have to," Spike replied honestly. "In the SRU, we've got a code called the Priority of Life. You save hostages first, then officers, then subjects."

"Subjects?"

"Bad guys," Spike told Amy bluntly. "What I'm saying is, right now, it's my _job_ to keep you and every other trainee in this place safe."

"Mine, too," Lou added over his teammate's shoulder. "We can't do that unless we know what's going on." He jerked his thumb at the cauldron behind him. "I think it's good, but you should double check."

Amy nodded and pushed herself up to plod wearily over to the cauldron. Spike glanced around the now empty room; at least they didn't have to deal with a wet floor – the no-good instructor had at least called a house-elf to clean things up before taking himself and the other trainees off to another classroom.

Lou drifted closer, a frown on his face. "Something wrong, buddy?" Spike asked.

He was _not_ expecting the swat upside the back of his head. "_That's_ for putting yourself in the line of fire," Lou snapped.

"Lou, it's my _job_ to handle the bombs," Spike argued.

All his protest earned was a second swat. "And it's _my_ job to back you up," Lou retorted. "I can't do that when you're shoving me under the nearest table."

Spike flinched, images of the _last_ time Lou had backed him up on a bomb call flashing through his head. "I just reacted," Spike whispered, dropping his eyes to the ground.

"No, you didn't," Lou countered. "Spike, I _get_ it; you're scared."

Yes, he was; he couldn't take losing his best friend again…even if he hadn't…

"Spike, this is _my_ job, too," Lou insisted. "How'd you like it if Sarge never let you near a computer again 'cause after one late night chat with a suspect, you up and vanished and nearly died? Huh? Or if he let you use your computer, but he put all sorts of limits on what you can do and how?"

The bomb tech swallowed hard, knowing, all too well, what Lou was referring to. "I can't promise," Spike managed to choke out.

"Fair enough," Lou returned. "But you gotta stop putting yourself between me and the line of fire, Spike. You're _my_ best friend, too, you know." Without another word, Lou walked back to the table to help Amy, leaving Spike to consider what he'd said.

* * *

"See, the Headmaster doesn't like Muggles," Amy babbled as Lou patiently chopped up the next set of ingredients. "And Muggleborns aren't much better in his book." She ducked her head, stirring with a bit more vigor than strictly necessary. "When I started, there were fourteen other Muggleborns in my class, but I'm the only one left."

"The _only_ one?" Lou echoed, a narrow look in his eyes.

Amy nodded unhappily. "Some of them had…training accidents. Nothing bad, just enough to make them leave. I _did_ hear about a really, really bad training accident years and years ago, the first year the Headmaster came in."

"What happened?" Spike inquired from her other side.

"Not sure exactly," Amy admitted. "But the wizard got hit with a really bad curse, shattered both his kneecaps, and couldn't join the Auror Division. He was only a week away from graduating, too."

The two techies traded startled looks. "Do you know his name?" Lou asked carefully. To his disappointment, Amy shook her head.

"So what's been happening with _your_ class?" Spike questioned, picking up the baton.

"Well…training accidents, like I said." Amy stared down at the cauldron. "It was about a year in, when I had a potion blow up on me," she whispered, a tear sneaking down her cheek. "Just like today. I turned away just in time; it saved my life, but, um, I got…"

"We saw," Lou murmured.

Amy sucked in a determined breath. "Neal saved me. He's a pureblood, did you know?"

"Suspected," Lou admitted.

"Anyway, he wouldn't let the Headmaster kick me out when I said I wanted to stay. Said if the Headmaster did that, he'd tell his father about all the training accidents and the times Muggleborns got assignments that were too advanced for them; one guy in my class that first year had to master a spell only taught to graduating Aurors, can you believe it?"

"So that's why you're friends," Spike mused, watching the potion instead of Amy's beet-red face. "And why you weren't supposed to help Neal show us around."

Another furious tear slipped down Amy's cheek. "Yeah," she choked out. "When Neal heard you were coming, he said it was our chance to stop all of this, but the Headmaster knows it, too. That's why _he_ doesn't want you here. Doesn't want you to finish out the week."

Lou was about to ask another question when a sound attracted his attention. He turned towards the door, frowning when he saw it was glowing a little. He walked over to it, attracting attention from his two companions. As he pushed against the door, frowning deeper when it didn't open, Amy gasped.

"What's wrong?" Spike demanded.

Amy's voice wobbled. "We're trapped. That's the ward they use if there's a really, really bad potions accident. It keeps everything out of the potions lab."

"Everything?" Lou pressed.

Pigtails bobbed. "Including air," Amy whispered.

* * *

Lou and Spike traded grim looks, then Lou hiked a brow and asked Amy, "You've seen this before?"

Amy bobbed her head. "Yeah, our instructor in my first year showed us the potions lab lockdown wards and explained how they work."

Spike's expression turned intent. "They show you inside or outside the lab?"

She opened her mouth, then looked towards the front of the room with renewed hope. "Inside. I think he did something up front to activate them."

"Can you put the potion in stasis?" Lou questioned while Spike scrambled to the front of the lab, searching for the ward controls.

"Done," Amy replied, giving an exaggerated, but precise wave of her wand over the potion and the fire beneath the cauldron. Both froze as if time had stopped around them, then the witch hurried after Spike. "He told us only an instructor can turn off the wards once they're up," she called.

"Worry about that once we find 'em," Spike called back, still hunting; the bomb tech shoved a pile of parchment out of his way as he searched the instructor's desk.

Lou headed for the opposite end and the instructor's brewing station. If an emergency required a quick response, _he_ would want the controls nearby, not meters and precious seconds away. "This thing have a timer on it?" he inquired.

"Yeah," Amy confirmed. "Well, maybe not on the outside of the room, but inside, they'd have to have one." She shuddered. "At least whoever turned it on didn't activate the runes that pull all the oxygen out of the room."

Both techies made a face at that and redoubled their efforts to find the controls. Then Lou spotted a small panel right next to the instructor brewing station and cautiously nudged it open. "Got it!"

Spike and Amy joined him moments later; Spike groaned. "I never bothered to learn how to read runes," he admitted ruefully, staring at the panel with half its symbols lit up with a soft white glow.

"Me either," Amy agreed.

"I know who can read them," Lou countered, pulling his phone out, snapping a photo, and quickly sending it.

"Who?" Amy asked curiously.

Spike lit up, then wilted. "Hope she's by her phone."

The trio waited in hopeful silence for almost fifteen minutes before Lou's phone buzzed. Lou sighed in relief and Spike perked up again. "Looks like she is," the less-lethal specialist muttered. He inspected the message, then pulled up the photo to compare. "Okay, she numbered the runes for us and…"

The phone beeped again.

Lou whistled and held the phone so all of them could see the new message. "Go, 'Lanna!" Spike cheered.

Amy traced the image on the phone, frowning thoughtfully. "So what now?"

The less-lethal specialist sighed as a third message arrived, Alanna confirming that the runes were designed to only permit an authorized individual to shut them down. He typed a quick question into the phone and sent it off.

AUTHORIZED INCLUDE AUROR?

DON'T KNOW. POSS. WHY?

Spike made a face and gestured for the phone. Lou passed it over and watched as his friend's fingers flew.

NEED TO SHUT DOWN RUNES.  
END POTIONS LAB LOCKDOWN.

There was no response at first, but finally Alanna's return message appeared.

STANDBY.  
LANCE ASKING A. ONASI.

Amy sighed, slumping in clear discouragement. "Wonder how long the air'll last," she muttered to herself, looking around the lab.

Lou made a face and was about to respond when Spike's phone squawked. He snatched his phone back as Spike pulled his own out.

POTIONS LAB LOCKDOWN W/ T1 INSIDE?

ME, LOU, AND A TRAINEE.

Spike sent the message off to Onasi without a flicker of regret.

HAVE BADGES?

Spike's eyebrows hiked at the oddball question.

YES?

USE POSSE COMITATUS WITH TRAINEE.  
AURORS AUTHORIZED.

"Um, Lou?" Spike questioned, holding up his phone. "You paid more attention during the crash course in wizarding law than I did."

Lou snickered, taking the phone. Then he whistled, impressed. "Okay, we got our out, Spike." Turning to Amy, the less-lethal specialist pulled out his Auror badge and flipped it open. "Amy, as an Auror of the Canadian Auror Division, I grant you posse comitatus status. You have full Auror powers, which extend for the duration of the situation."

Amy's eyes were as wide as dinner plates by the time Lou finished. Lou's badge glowed a moment and a much smaller badge appeared in front of Amy, hovering until she grabbed it out of midair. "This is real?" she asked in a small voice.

"As real as it gets," Spike told her with a grin. "Lou, buddy, show her 'Lanna's diagram again."

Lou scrolled up to the image and turned the phone, holding it up so Amy could see the hasty instructions Alanna had sent him. Amy drew her wand and traced the glowing runes one at a time, from the top down. The runes stopped glowing as she worked her way through them; when she finished, the panel flashed, then went totally dark. Across the room, the door clicked and opened.

Spike sent Onasi a quick thank you note as Amy went back to her potion to finish the final few steps. Lou placed himself in the potions lab doorway to keep anyone from locking them in again and sent his own thank you to Alanna and Lance.

* * *

Amy stuck as close to Aurors Scarlatti and Young as she could get after finishing their potion. Her temporary badge had vanished as soon as the lockdown wards on the potions lab were disabled, but there was one tiny detail about the wards she'd left out thus far. Only an instructor could have activated the lab's wards. Accordingly, she said nothing to her instructor about the incident and 'accidently' fell into Auror Scarlatti when he opened his mouth to complain about it.

Once she'd turned in the potion, the trio were cut loose to head for dinner. In the dining hall, Amy headed for her group's usual table; to her great relief, the two Aurors followed her, sinking down on the benches with relieved groans. They were soon joined by a livid Neal and 'his' two Aurors.

The last three Aurors arrived half an hour later, still drenched from the storm that had started sometime during the day. They trooped into the dining hall and found seats, looking wrung out. The tallest one arched a brow at his friends and drawled, "Well, we just killed four fictional monsters and saved six wannabe Aurors, how was _your_ day?"

To Amy's left, Auror Scarlatti groaned and let his head thump against the table; Auror Young looked as if he'd like to join his best friend, but was too exhausted to move. The other two Aurors traded resigned looks, but didn't answer.

"That good, huh?"

* * *

Author note: I did a few online searches, but I couldn't find anything about a Canadian version of what we in the USA call "posse comitatus". Essentially, posse comitatus is the ability of a police officer to grant a civilian full police powers for the duration of an emergency. It was much more common in days of the Old West, but it's still on the books unless prohibited by state statute.

Though our neighbors to the North probably don't have posse comitatus, desperate times call for desperate measures – not to mention making a good story. If anyone _does_ know of a similar law or common term used in Canada, please, let me know and I'll update to the Canadian-friendly posse comitatus.


	5. Dueling and Investigating

**_Chapter Five: Dueling and Investigating_**

Wordy trailed after Neal, double-checking his gauntlets as he walked. Just behind him, it sounded like Sarge was doing much the same thing; neither officer was looking forward to the dueling. Although the team had decided to go on the offensive, they were still 'Muggles' trying to fight the wizards on their own terms.

As the trio entered the classroom, the instructor at the front of the room smirked, just a bit. "So, decided to come back, eh?"

Both officers kept their faces blank as the students in the classroom snickered at them. Neal bristled, but a quick elbow from Wordy kept the angry wizard from antagonizing his teacher.

Dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully at Sarge and Wordy's lack of reaction, but the instructor opted to move on. Turning to the rest of his class, he snapped, "Well, what are you waiting for? Get these desks out of the way!"

The trainees leapt to obey and were soon practicing against one another with enthusiasm. The instructor kept the duels short and the students hopping; soon enough, he waved Wordy forward to his first practice match of the day.

Wordy took his spot, studying his opponent. The blond wizard, like many of his classmates, wore his hair down to his shoulders; cool gray eyes regarded Wordy as the trainee flicked his wrist and let his wand drop into his hand. The stance he took looked almost like a fencer; Wordy opted for a more solid stance, balancing on his feet and ready to dodge in either direction. One thing in the techie's favor was that none of the trainees seemed to understand _how_ Team One had blocked or deflected curses the day before. Even Neal appeared to think the techies had gotten lucky, judging by the worried expression on the young wizard's face.

"Begin!" the instructor barked over Wordy's shoulder.

Three red bolts launched at Wordy, close enough together that to dodge one was to step into the path of the other two. So Wordy leapt forward into a roll that took him right under the spells and that much closer to the trainee. The wizard snapped his wand downwards, trying to take advantage of Wordy's now point-blank range, but Wordy stepped forward, grabbing his opponent's arm, yanking him forward and off balance. A quick twist forced the young wizard to drop his wand with a cry, then Wordy finished the takedown, as smooth as if he was in the workout room at SRU Headquarters.

"What are you _doing_?" the instructor screeched. "I told you, there will be no Muggle dueling in my class!"

"Then you penalized us for 'holding back'," Wordy retorted, letting his opponent up. "You can't have it both ways, _sir_, and one of my teammates got hurt yesterday _because_ he was trying to follow your rules."

"Auror Sergeant Parker, control your man!" the instructor demanded angrily, turning towards an unamused Sergeant.

"What did Auror Constable Wordsworth say that wasn't true?" Sarge inquired mildly. "After all, you _did_ rebuke us yesterday for holding back and Auror Constable Young _was_ injured as he attempted to fulfill your requirement that we not use our 'Muggle dueling' tactics. An injury he was never treated for, I might add."

The students were dead silent as their instructor puffed up in indignation. Sarge's expression never changed as he waited for an answer to his question. When it became clear there _was_ no answer, the Sergeant shook his head. "Perhaps, sir, it would be best if Constable Wordsworth and myself refrain from any further dueling. Much like my constable, I, too, do not intend to hold back during any duels today."

The instructor's expression filled with fury – and apprehension? – then he smiled, but it was a cold, nasty smile. "That won't be necessary, Auror Sergeant Parker. Actually, if you and Auror Wordsworth are willing, would you join me in a exhibition match? That way my students can _truly_ see what you and your man are capable of."

Wordy stiffened, sensing a trap; Team One had never been trained to duel because, magic aside, they simply didn't _work_ like that. He could see from Sarge's eyes that the other man could see the trap just as well as he could. But to decline would surrender all the ground his Sergeant had just won. After a moment, Sarge inclined his head in acceptance. "No lethal curses," he ground out, making it clear his condition was non-negotiable.

"As you wish," was the haughty, mocking reply.

* * *

Greg was not happy. Not only did he and Wordy have to fight an experienced wizard without their usual equipment, the instructor had insisted that the two techies start on opposite ends of the dueling ring, with the wizard in the center. In theory, that gave the techies an advantage, since they could attack from both sides at once. In practice, not so much.

While both he and Wordy could go on the offensive, Greg suspected that was what the wizard expected them to do. The Sergeant considered, then nodded to himself. He would signal Wordy to stay defensive and then work his way around until they could fight, if not side-by-side, then close enough to cover each other. Tactics decided on, Greg took his position, watching closely as Wordy took his own stance. Off to the side, Neal counted down the match, calling, "Begin!"

Around the three, dueling wards went up to protect the bystanders. Greg hid his frown; the dueling ring wasn't wide enough to accommodate three duelers…yet another thing in the wizard's favor. And the narrow ring meant his plan was already in ashes. He and Wordy would _have_ to fight from opposite ends. Unless… Parker signaled Wordy to hold back even as a Stunner leapt at Wordy; he ducked under it, then the wizard hurled a blue curse at Greg.

Greg stepped forward, directly into the curse, internally praying as he swung his left arm up in an arc, much as he would do if he was armed with his Narnian shield. The gauntlet blazed with scarlet light as it deflected the curse into the dueling wards. A Reductor curse, Greg would bet his salary on it… _So much for not throwing lethal curses,_ the Sergeant realized.

Another blue curse sailed across the distance and Greg felt the hair on the back of his neck go up, his sixth sense screaming that he _did not_ want to get hit by _this_ spell. He twisted to the side, but not quite far enough as the spell brushed him and hurled him sideways into the wards. The Sergeant's head struck the wards and he nearly lost consciousness. In the back of his mind, a gryphon snarled challenge; Greg's arms seemed to come up of their own volition as the wizard slashed his wand across, sending a wedge of white magic at him.

"Foul!" Neal yelled from the sidelines. "No lethal curses!"

Scarlet light absorbed the curse; behind that glow, Wordy saw his Sergeant's eyes change, saw his teeth flash, like fangs. Sarge rolled to the side, regaining his feet, balance shifting from his typical solid stance to the balls of his feet, a coiled predator about to pounce. One hand moved in a definite order: Go. The brunet charged, trusting his teammate to keep the wizard occupied.

"Foul!" Neal yelled again as a Cutting Curse sailed through the air at Sarge.

The wizard whirled, raising his wand towards Wordy and Sarge…_snarled_. The constable brought his gauntlets up, praying they'd stop whatever spell the wizard threw. Then the instructor went down like a ton of bricks, his wand spilling from his hand and Sarge looming over him, a wild, untamed look in his eyes. Indignation radiated, fueling pure _rage_; scarlet flickered around the stocky man for a moment before the Sergeant reined his temper in. Grim, Sarge flipped the wizard over, then stepped on his outstretched wrist, drawing a hiss of pain from the man. "Three, maybe even _four_, lethal curses," Parker observed with icy calm, pressing down just a little. "You're lucky I don't arrest you right here and now. Wordy, get his wand."

Wordy obeyed, yanking the wand away from its owner. The wizard made a sound of protest, but shut up at the predatory gleam in Sarge's eyes.

For a moment, tension hung, awaiting only one wrong move to snap. Then Sarge pulled his boot back, the wildness leaving his face. "If you _ever_ attempt to use a lethal curse on any of my constables, you'll wish I'd arrested you here and now, understand?" Without waiting for a reply, Sarge stepped away and stalked out of the room.

Wordy considered, then passed the wand in his hand off to Neal and hurried after his boss.

* * *

The gryphon in his head was screeching in outrage that he'd _let the wizard go_; Greg grimaced, flexing his hands as, yet _again_, he asserted _his_ authority over his gryphon Animagus form. Though he'd gotten the impression from Lance that the gryphon would eventually settle down, it was taking much longer than he'd hoped it would. Fortunately, after a few seconds of the mental standoff, the gryphon backed down and curled up in a corner of his mind to sulk. Fine. Greg could deal with sulking.

Once he'd regained control over his temper, Greg looked around, somehow unsurprised that his feet had carried him outside. Glancing up, he could tell a storm was rolling in, but something told him it wasn't quite ready to rain yet. Even if it did rain, the Sergeant wasn't sure he minded right now…maybe it would cool his temper down.

Locating a nearby tree, Greg leaned against it and looked up at the clouds. He shouldn't have done that; shouldn't have let his wild side off its leash. He was trying to _gain_ control over his gryphon half, not let it loose on every idiot wizard to cross his path. Even if it _had_ felt particularly satisfying to take the arrogant wizard down before he could curse Wordy.

"Sarge?"

Greg turned his head, not bothering to appear caught off guard. Wordy's expression was hesitant, concerned. When the constable didn't say anything, Greg prompted, "Yes?"

"You okay?"

Honest worry rang in the brunet's voice, but Greg wasn't sure if he could trust his instincts any more. Wasn't sure if he could trust his 'team sense' any more either. The Sergeant let himself slump into the tree holding him up. "One week."

Wordy blinked, but didn't say anything at the non sequitur.

"One week without worrying about hot calls, without having to be perfect, without having to prove ourselves with every step we take." A soft sigh. "One week to just _train_ and not think about anything else."

The constable considered that, then joined his Sergeant, their shoulders brushing as Wordy leaned against the tree. "So much for that," the brunet offered wryly.

Greg nodded, then tilted his head back to watch the clouds gain more gray in their depths. "I shouldn't have lost my temper, though," he murmured.

"Why not?" Wordy questioned, to Greg's astonishment. "He expected us to just sit there and take whatever the trainees could throw at us. And you said no lethal curses, but he still tried to kill you." The brunet snorted. "Surprised it took you _that_ long to do…whatever it is you did."

Parker cast his subordinate a startled look, his doubts and questions clear.

Wordy shuffled, jostling his Sergeant's shoulder. "Were you gonna tell us?"

Greg looked away. "It's…not part of the 'team sense', Wordy."

"So? What happened to telling us if something went nuts, Sarge?"

The Sergeant frowned. "Wordy, it's not like that. It's not like…when I got the 'team sense'," he protested quietly. "_Mio nipote_ told me that it's…" he trailed off.

"It's…" Wordy prompted, unwilling to let the matter lie.

Greg swallowed hard. "It's…my…gryphon Animagus form," he admitted, forcing each word out. At his subordinate's low whistle, he felt his shoulders hunch. "I don't have enough magic to change, not completely, anyway, but…"

"But you can change a little," Wordy concluded. The other man's head cocked to the side. "You were moving different, too, Sarge."

"I was?"

"Yeah, you were," Wordy confirmed. "I don't think they noticed; they don't know your hand-to-hand style like _I_ do, but you were moving more like a predator or something." The constable hesitated, then blurted, "If it helps, I'm tired of it, too, Sarge."

A mirthless smile. "Of being perfect."

"Yes."

Greg allowed a heavy sigh and glanced up. "We'd better get back inside before it starts raining," he murmured.

"Commander Holleran's going to be mad, isn't he?"

Greg gave Wordy a sharp look, then gave in and nodded once. "Yes, Constable Wordsworth, I think 'mad' is a severe understatement. Particularly if it turns out that Madame Locksley _expected_ this particular chain of events."

"You think she did?" Wordy asked as the two headed for the Academy's side door.

Greg paused, mid-reach for the door handle, then inclined his head. "Wordy, I think she did know. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if she was simply…looking for an excuse to send us here."

"To clean up another mess," Wordy grumbled resentfully.

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," the Sergeant agreed.

* * *

"You mean you _really_ thought this was just a week of training?" Neal asked incredulously. "Nobody told you what's been going on here?"

Wordy and his Sergeant traded looks, then Sarge met the young wizard's gaze squarely. "That's correct." Neal slumped in clear disappointment and Sarge cleared his throat. "However, now that we're _here_, how about you tell us?"

Green eyes focused on the floor and Neal flinched. "I can't," he muttered. "I gave my word."

"To whom?"

"The Headmaster," Neal replied, looking up again. "Look, I don't want what happened years and years ago to the last Muggleborn trainee to happen to Amy, but I already stuck my neck out for her; if _I_ tell you what's going on around here, then my word can't be trusted."

Sarge scowled, but Wordy was thoughtful. "Can you tell us _when_ you made this promise?" he asked curiously.

Neal considered the constable's question, thinking the matter over carefully. "Yes," he decided, "I can. It was three years ago after a…potions accident…but that's all I can say."

To Wordy's right, Sarge's eyes were narrowing as he thought. "So the Headmaster chose you to show us around because he knew you had to keep your mouth shut?"

The wizard nodded once.

"Can you tell us if any of the other trainees are under the same obligation?"

Again the wizard considered, then he shook his head. "I can't answer that." His expression turned mulish and he muttered, "Can't _believe_ she didn't tell you."

"_She_?" Wordy pressed, both brows rising.

Neal drew back, gulping nervously. Then he shrugged. "Think about who sent you here…and that's all I'm gonna say." He turned away, then looked back, "Are you coming to the last part of class?"

"More dueling?" Wordy groaned.

The wizard shook his head. "Nah, just a practice case."

The SRU Aurors traded looks, then Sarge shrugged. "Lead on."

* * *

The case itself was easy, particularly since the instructor was making a point of staying as far away from the techies as possible. At first, Neal was the only trainee willing to work with Wordy and Greg, but then a redheaded wizard wandered over, introducing himself as Merric Hollyrose. Greg recognized him as one of Neal's friends and quietly made room at the desk he, Wordy, and Neal had commandeered.

Neal waited until Merric was settled before declaring, "Had to be the other shopkeeper. No one else had the opportunity."

"What about their house-elves?" Wordy inquired, propping his chin on one hand. "A house-elf could pop in, grab the merchandise, and pop out…no one would know the difference. I don't see any alibis for either shopkeeper's house-elf, do you?"

Merric scoffed, but Greg skimmed the material they'd been given again. Wordy was right; though both shopkeepers involved had admitted to the Aurors that they each owned a house-elf, the patrol Aurors hadn't interviewed the elves.

Neal's expression was considering and he cast a careful look up to the front of the room. "Might catch him off guard, eh, Merry?"

"Don't call me Merry," Merric snapped. Even so, he glanced down at his notes. "Maybe we should say we don't have enough evidence to draw a conclusion since the elves weren't interviewed."

"Neal, you've got the master copy," Greg put in, "Do the house-elves have their own quarters?"

"And were they searched?" Neal followed up, digging through his sheaf of parchment. With a soft, "Ah-ha!" he pulled out a rough sketch of the store that had been robbed. Next to it, he placed a sketch of the store belonging to the chief rival. The other three men leaned forward, studying the layout.

Merric traced something on the rival store diagram. "Looks like the rival's house-elf has a little room all to himself," he mused thoughtfully. "Says they searched the store, but whoever wrote this down didn't list the search room-by-room."

"Sloppy," Wordy muttered, earning a nod from Neal.

"Merric," Neal drawled, "Be a good little minion and put together our report that the patrol Aurors were remiss in not interviewing the house-elves and filed incomplete reports on their search of the rival's store."

"Why me?" Merric protested.

"You're the only one who hasn't ticked our instructor off," Wordy intervened.

It took a minute or so, but Merric finally threw up his hands and hissed, "Fine!" Roughly, he started scribbling out their report. Wordy arched a brow when the first two sheets of parchment were quietly pushed in his direction and Merric's writing improved considerably as he wrote out another page. Instead of looking at the parchment right then and there, Wordy slipped it into his backpack.

Their group was the last to go; every other group had concluded that the rival shopkeeper was the only one who could have robbed the victim's store. Accordingly, as Merric explained that the case hadn't provided enough details to come to a conclusion, the scorn from his fellow trainees was clear to see.

"In fact," Merric continued, pretending not to notice the soft jeers. "We considered the possibility that the victim was robbed by his rival's _house-elf_ and that the stolen merchandise may have been hidden in the house-elf's room. Without interviewing the house-elf and conducting a second – more detailed and thorough – search, we cannot reach a conclusion in this case."

The two officers tensed at the mocking expression on the instructor's face. "Are you suggesting that the patrol Aurors failed in their duty?" he inquired, his tone so pointed that Wordy was impressed with Merric's steady return look.

"Yes, sir, we are," Merric replied, polite, but firm.

The instructor turned to the other students. "And the rest of you? What do you think?"

One student raised his hand and the instructor nodded to him. "Even _if_ the house-elf committed the crime," the young man jeered, "It would have admitted it to the patrol Aurors."

"Not if the elf was ordered to lie," Neal muttered, but he didn't raise his hand; instead, he watched with resignation as the other students gleefully tore Merric's report apart. When Merric came back, his face was redder than his hair and he was visibly fuming.

"Here," Merric hissed, thrusting the parchment at Neal.

Neal lifted sorrowful green eyes. "Sorry, Merric. I should've known they'd do that."

Merric sank down on his chair, his irritation fading. "But you were right; all of you were. It _could_ have been the house-elf and we'll never know 'cause no one ever _asked_ the elves." A wry look twisted his face. "I'm mad at _them_, Neal, not you. Even if you _do_ mangle my name at least once a day."

* * *

When Neal, Greg, and Wordy arrived in the dining room, Amy, Spike, and Lou were already present and seated. Greg hid a frown at how exhausted his two men looked, but if the hints Neal had dropped were accurate…his team had been sent in blind and he _did not_ appreciate it. Wordy dropped down next to Lou and Greg took the next available seat; Neal nabbed a seat right across from Amy, his expression shifting from livid to concerned at the pale look on her face and the way her hands trembled, ever so slightly.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, the final three members of Team One trooped in, their armor dripping wet as they headed for their teammates and found seats of their own. They looked just as tired as Greg felt; clearly, no one had had an easy day. Then Ed drawled, "Well, we just killed four fictional monsters and saved six wannabe Aurors, how was _your_ day?"

On the far side, Spike groaned and let his head thump down on the table; Greg noticed Lou looked _just_ as happy. Without answering, Greg and Wordy traded resigned looks.

"That good, huh?"

* * *

Author note: Cyber cookie for anyone who figures out which two spells were non-verbally thrown at Greg. As a minor clue, I add that Greg was correct; a total of _four_ lethal spells were used in the duel, all against him. Also, all four are from _Harry Potter_ canon.


	6. Consequences of Deception

**_Chapter Six: Consequences of Deception_**

The study room was rather crowded with Team One and the four trainees they'd worked with during the day all crammed into the smallish room. At a nod from Parker, Ed, Sam, and Jules went first, outlining what had occurred during their class – though Greg couldn't help but notice that they skimmed over the spidren's 'victim'. Still, it sounded as if his three snipers hadn't had any issues beyond a bit of sniping from the teacher and sneers from the trainee wizards. Wordy, Spike, and Lou snickered when Sam mimed how they'd almost literally _blown up_ the last spidren.

From there, things took a downturn as Spike and Lou described their class – Lou swatting Spike when he got to the actual potion explosion. The bomb tech rubbed his head and concluded with the potions lab lockdown; before any of their seething teammates could speak, Amy lifted her hand, glancing nervously between the Sergeant and Neal.

"Yes, Amy?" Greg asked, careful to keep his gaze and voice calm.

"Umm…the lockdown…it couldn't have just happened, Auror Parker."

"Some student trying to 'prank' the 'Muggles'?" Jules suggested.

Shrinking, Amy shook her head. "N…no, Auror Callaghan. On…only an instructor can trigger the wards."

"_What_?" Wordy blurted.

"It's true," Neal put in softly before the rest of the team could verbally explode. "Students aren't allowed to brew on their own 'cause we can't activate the lockdown wards if there's a problem."

"Wait, how would you know that?" Sam asked, half enraged and half curious.

Neal shrugged. "I might be in Dueling and Investigation _this_ week, Auror Braddock, but all of us have to pass Potions and Cursebreaking, too." His jaw twitched in a grin. "Amyz might be the class potions genius, but I know my way around a cauldron."

Amy flushed bright-red at the praise.

Greg moved forward, fixing his two techs with a stern, but worried gaze. "Spike? Lou?"

"We're okay, Boss," Spike replied. " 'Lanna, Giles, and Amy came through for us." Beside him, Lou nodded.

The Sergeant dropped his voice low. "Spike. Lou's right, you know."

"You bet he's right," Wordy put in, closing from the other direction and nudging Amy towards her classmates. "You think we could take losing _you_, Spike?"

"Not a chance," Ed growled, glaring at the bomb tech. "You're part of this team, Scarlatti."

"And it's a _team_," Jules tacked on. "We're stronger together."

Sam didn't speak, but his expression – affectionate, chiding, and narrow all in one – made his stance clear.

Wordy lifted his head. "And that goes _double_ for _you_, Sarge."

Attention snapped to him, though Greg restrained a wince and hoped no one else had noticed the big constable's pointed glance at the trainees. He _really_ didn't want to talk about his gryphon Animagus form.

"Wordy?" Ed demanded sharply.

Behind the brunet, Neal groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Shall I regale you with the bad news now?" he inquired of the floor; beside him, Merric flinched and started carefully inching away from the Aurors.

The team leader turned slowly, a dangerous glint in blue eyes; beside him, Wordy jerked even more to attention. "You know what those two spells were?" he asked.

"What. Two. Spells?" Ed ground out.

Neal paled, gulping at the fury on the sniper's face. "Ah, well, in order…" He looked down, counting on his fingers. "One Stunner at Auror Wordsworth, then four spells at Auror Parker. _Reducto_, _Sectumsempra_, _Confringo_, and _Diffindo_." With each named spell, the team leader's fists clenched tighter, his expression going positively _venomous_. By the end, despite having done nothing wrong, the pureblood wizard was cringing and looked as if he wanted the floor to just swallow him up.

"Eddie. My armor handled it."

Ed swung around, landing his boss with a deadly glare. "He tried to _kill_ you!"

"It's hardly the first time," Greg countered calmly. "It won't be the last."

"But Boss," Jules protested automatically; around her, her teammates were just as angry and distressed.

"No, Jules, that's enough." The Sergeant turned towards the trainees, arching a brow in silent inquiry.

Neal paused, glancing at Amy. "You sure it was him?" he asked.

She blinked, confused, then nodded. "Yeah; everyone else was doing the curse-breaking; he's the only one who knew we were still in the potions lab."

Fury darted across the pureblood's face before he turned, cleared his throat, and grimly started outlining everything he knew about various 'training accidents' and 'unfortunate mishaps'.

Wordy lifted a hand before he could go too far. "What happened to that promise you made?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

Neal looked at Amy again, then back at Wordy. "When I made my promise to Headmaster Shelton, I made it clear that my agreement was null and void if Amy was _ever_ targeted again." Amy gasped and Neal turned towards her. "I knew they were still hassling you, but as long as you told me to drop it and mind my own business, I couldn't break my promise." Tears filled the young witch's eyes. "And I couldn't tell _you_ about the promise, either, Amyz," the young pureblood finished, voice aching with regret.

Spike whistled softly. "They broke their end, so you're breaking yours."

"You don't let your teammates down," Lou agreed, just as low, a wry smirk crossing his face at the sharp glance from his best friend.

The green-eyed wizard inclined his head. The other three trainees briefly put their heads together, then looked back at a patient Team One. Though Neal still took the lead, all four trainees traded off as they reported on everything they knew about.

Seaver described projects given to first-year Muggleborn trainees that required graduating class knowledge, Amy chiming in with her own first-hand experience. In a low, ashamed voice, Merric related the numerous times over the years that Muggleborns had been injured and their injuries had either been ignored or 'treated' on the spot by 'suddenly' inept instructors – Lou found himself grateful _his_ injured shoulder had been ignored once the 'treatments' were described. From there, the stories got worse, Neal jumping in, but letting Seaver and Merric do most of the talking. Practice duels that had gone from one-on-one to two-on-one – or worse. A mass poisoning at breakfast one year that had left every Muggleborn in the school incapacitated for a _week_ – fortunately, one of their half-blood classmates had brewed the antidote before any one died.

Amy could only offer her own first-hand knowledge, but Merric and Seaver, half-bloods with friends and – in Merric's case – family in law enforcement, knew quite a bit more. Neal admitted that his older brothers had both been Aurors and that his family had a long history of 'defending the realm', so once his three classmates had exhausted their treasure troves of horror, he shared stories that were older still – tales from the Headmaster's first few years at the Academy and the _improvements_ he'd brought with him. Tales of 'training accidents' that made Amy's potion explosions look like chump change – _including_ more than a few trainees who'd ended permanently disabled. Even worse, since those trainees had never graduated, almost all of them had ended up penniless and destitute – an injustice that left Team One _livid_.

When the reports were done, Neal turned towards Spike and Lou. "Thank you," he whispered.

Spike cracked a brief grin, though his demeanor remained solemn. "Hey, _Amy's_ the one who got those runes deactivated."

Amy flushed and hid behind her hair as best she could; the flush grew brighter when Merric and Seaver bracketed her, concern and pride warring on their faces.

Greg eyed all four trainees – Neal plainly their leader, though whether that was because of his blood status or not, the Sergeant wasn't sure. In truth, the pureblood didn't strike him as a natural leader – he'd taken the leadership role because he'd been expected to and grown into it. Amy, used to keeping her head down, likely would've kept right on doing that if not for Neal – why else had she kept that juicy tidbit about the lockdown wards to herself? As for Seaver and Merric… Although he suspected his team had impressed them, again, it was Neal who'd pushed them into coming clean. Not bad for a wizard still learning his trade and struggling to live up to his brothers' legacy.

Ed cleared his throat, drawing attention. "What now, Boss? I can't believe Commander Locksley told Commander Holleran about _any_ of this when she pitched the idea of the Auror Academy to him."

"She didn't," Greg confirmed, turning to face his team leader. "He would've cut her off at the pass and permanently revoked our Auror badges. He may _still_ do that once I report in."

"But we voted," Jules protested.

"Jules, it doesn't matter," the Sergeant replied, rubbing his head. "We voted with assumption that the Auror Division would treat us fairly, something we apparently should've discussed more in depth given today's events. Commander Holleran wasn't happy with our decision, you know that."

Jules nodded silently.

"And frankly, I'm not happy either. We were sent in blind and I imagine we're expected to clean up this mess _for_ Commander Locksley. I wouldn't be surprised if, on Friday, Commander Locksley planned on _ordering_ us to keep quiet about what's been occurring in this disaster zone." Seaver and Merric shifted in protest, but Parker pinned them with a glare. "Training 'accidents', injuries to Muggleborns mishandled or outright ignored, first year trainees expected to master graduating class spells? What been happening to _my_ team is minor compared to what you four just briefed us about. This place is out of control and all of you know it…or you wouldn't be here."

"Those spidrens out there," Jules added softly. "It might've been an illusion, but if any of them had managed to connect with those axes…"

Seaver shuddered, unable to keep from imagining his classmates in bloody heaps on the ground. "I think they must've had spells on them, too," he offered in a small voice. "We've been through three years of training…so why'd every last trainee out there scream? We _know_ better, or we should. Even me…" he pointed at Jules, "You kept it from hearing me and you three were the only ones who _didn't_ scream."

Greg's frown grew deeper and he looked to his team leader, asking a silent question. Ed considered, then tipped his head in a nod. The Sergeant pulled his phone out and gestured for quiet as he hit a number in the phone. It rang, then picked up with a quick, worried, "Sergeant Parker?"

"Sir, do you have a minute?" Greg inquired, suddenly chagrined…his commander was probably at home…

There were a few seconds of silence, then, "Give me a moment, Sergeant." Greg waited as his boss moved to a different room, then the commander said, "Tell me, Greg. I know it's bad if you're calling me at _this_ hour, so don't bother sugar-coating it."

Greg drew in a breath, ordering his explanation. Then he suggested, "Sir, you might want a piece of paper for notes. It's…been a long two days."

Holleran did not question his subordinate; Greg heard a brief rustling, the click of a pen, and the familiar sound of that pen being tested. Then the commander sighed. "All right, Sergeant, out with it."

Parker obeyed, starting with the prior day and giving his boss as much detail as he could. A few times, his teammates piped up with additional details or a few things he'd forgotten. The trainees in the background were utterly silent, though they traded a few looks that were a mix of hope and disappointment. The disappointment faded into quiet, determined pride when the Sergeant glanced at them and added _their_ reports to the mix.

When Greg finished, he felt wrung out. But he also felt better for having laid it all out; it was no longer _his_ decision…he could let Commander Holleran step in and take over. Holleran's pen continued to scratch on the other end of the phone, then stopped as he finished with his final notes. "Sergeant, put your phone on speaker, please."

"Sir, do you want to speak to _just_ myself and my team?" Greg questioned.

To the Sergeant's surprise, Holleran chuckled. "Your strays, Sergeant?"

Though Parker kept from flushing, his expression turned sheepish and his teammates laughed at him. "Yes, sir."

"Let them stay; I'd like to thank them," Commander Holleran decided. "Speaker phone, Sergeant."

"Copy." Greg pulled his phone away, tapped a command, and sent his phone down in the center of the table. "You're on speaker, Commander."

"Thank you, Sergeant Parker," Holleran replied; Greg could hear the other man standing. "Auror trainees, let me begin by thanking you for bringing these issues to the attention of Team One. I will do my best to keep any of you from being affected by the backlash for your having done so."

Neal leaned forward. "Thank you, sir."

"Sergeant Parker?"

"Yes, Commander?" Greg asked, snapping to attention at his commander's tone.

"Arrest all three instructors your team has dealt with on charges of assaulting Toronto law enforcement officers. If Headmaster Shelton protests, arrest him on charges of obstruction of justice. Bring all of your arrestees to the station along with the four trainees who sided with you. I'll ensure that Winnie and Team Three are the only ones in the station tomorrow morning." Holleran's voice turned smug. "Once you've brought them in, I will contact Commander Locksley and inform her of my intentions to charge these wizards under technological law."

Greg's eyes went wide; that would constitute a direct threat to the Statute of Secrecy in the eyes of the Canadian Ministry of Magic. "Sir?"

"Sergeant, I know what I'm doing," Commander Holleran replied, his voice firm. "At the same time, I'll also inform Commander Locksley that all four trainees are under official police protection. _That_ starts tonight, by the by." Holleran paused, then his voice turned regretful. "I'll need your Auror badges when you come in tomorrow."

The Sergeant wasn't surprised; glancing around, his team wasn't surprised either. "Copy that, Commander," Greg acknowledged softly. "And Team Three?"

"I'll be yanking their badges as well. The only badge I can't yank is Detective Lane's, much as I would like to." Silence hung, on both sides of the phone. "Is there anything else, Sergeant Parker?"

Through a sudden lump in his throat, Greg replied, "No, sir, that's everything."

"Then good night." The phone clicked off and Greg picked it up slowly. He drew in a steadying breath, then looked up at his dead silent audience.

"Team One, full armor tomorrow. Weapons, cuffs…everything we brought, just in case."

"Copy," Ed replied sharply; the rest of his team nodded morosely.

Drawing in a deep breath, Greg looked to the trainees. "Pack up everything you need for a couple days; our trucks are parked right outside the Academy's wards. We make our move right after breakfast tomorrow."

* * *

The arrests were almost anticlimactic; the three instructors were caught completely by surprise as they were charged and cuffed by the grim faced constables. The only excitement of the morning came when Headmaster Shelton accosted the group as they headed for the front door.

"Unhand my staff at once!" the wizard shrieked. "How _dare_ you arrest pureblooded wizards, you insolent Muggles!"

Greg eyed the man, one hand resting on the butt of his pistol. "They're under arrest for attacking my constables," he explained simply. "If you attempt to stop us, sir, you will be arrested and charged with obstruction."

"You think _you_ can arrest me, _Muggle_?" the Headmaster laughed scornfully, drawing his wand. Before he could bring it to bear, Greg's gun was up, pointed at the wizard's chest.

Greg's smile was grim, with none of his usual empathy and concern for others in his eyes. He said nothing, letting his service weapon's barrel speak _for_ him. As the standoff continued, Shelton's expression contorted, then he reluctantly lowered his wand. The Glock, however, did not dip. "Callaghan," Parker ordered softly.

Jules moved forward, snatching the Headmaster's wand away and pulling his hands behind his back. Runic cuffs were fastened into place around his wrists, cutting off his magic. Greg kept his pistol aimed and ready until the wizard was secured, then lowered the weapon and slid it back into its holster. Without another word, he gestured his team and their trailing guests out the front door.

* * *

Commander Holleran surveyed all four wizards standing in his office. The longer he stared at them, not speaking, the more they fidgeted, finding other parts of the office – as well as the floor – quite interesting. The four young wizards standing off to the side were also nervous, but Holleran had placed them with Team One for a reason.

When he judged his targets sufficiently unnerved, Holleran rose, moving slowly and deliberately as he stalked around his desk and up to the ringleader. "Tell me," he demanded quietly, "Which of you decided that my officers' _lack_ of magic meant you could attempt to execute them with impunity?"

He let that hang, pacing back and forth. "That you could use a monster invented by a technological author to hunt three of them down." One wizard swallowed. "That you could sentence two more to a slow death by asphyxiation." A second wizard blanched. "Or that you could get away with a few 'accidental' lethal curses in an exhibition match?" The third wizard's expression turned stony.

Holleran turned away, sweeping back to his desk. "I hope you enjoyed your games, because they are _over_, _gentlemen_. You will be charged under _our_ law for the attempted murder of seven Toronto police officers and obstruction of justice."

"You have no right to do that!" Headmaster Shelton blurted.

Even Parker flinched at the look in his commander's eyes as he turned around. "I have _every_ right," he snapped. "You attacked my top team and you've ruined the lives of dozens of young people whose only crime was being born on the technological side of the fence."

Shelton sneered. "Name _one_ Muggleborn whose life I've ruined."

It was not Holleran who responded, but Lou. "Grant Taylor."

The four wizards turned, confusion written across their faces. "Who?" the Headmaster questioned, a mocking cant to his inquiry.

Lou took one step forward. "Your first year at the Academy, there was a tech-born who was only a week away from graduating," the constable explained, anger flashing in his eyes. "Except before he could graduate, there was a 'training accident' that shattered both his kneecaps when he took a curse, right to the chest, and a second curse hit some scaffolding he was standing right next to. The Healers could've fixed all the damage, no problem, but before they were called, one of the instructors tried to heal Taylor's injuries. Luckily, he stopped after one knee or Taylor probably never would've walked again. He got booted out and since he never became an Auror, he and his wife were left with barely a Knut to their names."

Easing back to his teammates, Lou tilted his chin up. "There you go."

Silence hung a moment, then Shelton threw Holleran a deadly glare. "I _demand_ to be given a trial before the Wizengamot."

"Demand all you want," Commander Holleran replied, reaching down to his phone. "Won't make a shred of difference." He dialed a number and tapped a button on the base, right below the handset.

"Commander Locksley speaking."

"Commander Locksley, this is Commander Holleran," Holleran announced, his eyes on the arrested wizards.

"What can I do for you, Commander Holleran?"

Without any further preamble, Holleran announced, "You can come and pick up the Auror badges belonging to Teams One and Three. My people will no longer work with the Auror Division in _any_ capacity. And you might want to find new blood to replace Headmaster Shelton and the three instructors Team One arrested today at the Auror Academy."

"_WHAT?_"

Holleran was unmoved. "You lied to me and sent my team in blind," he growled. "That means our deal is off and the wizards who attacked my team will face…; what is it you usually call us?; _Muggle_ justice. And tell your Aurors they're now _persona non grata_ in _my_ station." Without waiting for her to reply, Holleran stabbed down on the button to end the call.

"Sergeant, have your team take these four, read them their rights, and get them processed," Holleran ordered.

"Yes, sir," Sergeant Parker acknowledged.

"And tell Team Three to be ready for any Aurors that show up to take their people back."

Parker nodded, shifting his gaze to his fellow negotiator. "Jules."

"Got it, Sarge."

Holleran raised a hand, smiling coldly. "Once you finished, Team One, you're free to go home."

The constables perked up; Ed even offered an enthusiastic, "Yes, _sir_."

Once the wizards – including the trainees – and the constables of Team One were gone, Greg arched a brow at his boss. Holleran's smile turned tight and angry. "Team Three has orders to make it look good, Greg. The Aurors will be looking for the four you arrested, not the trainees. I imagine they'll be able to go back to the wizarding world after a day or two."

"And my team?"

"Unless Locksley can mobilize her people faster than I anticipate, they won't be in the line of fire," Commander Holleran reassured his Sergeant, sitting down behind his desk. "I'll let you be the one to tell them; your team can have the rest of the week. Might as well, since you were scheduled to be off the whole week _anyway_. I'll give your four trainees a place to bunk for a couple of days; young Neal can contact his father…arrange for them to go back and hopefully finish their training."

"You were never planning on _keeping_ them," Greg realized, dropping into a chair with open relief.

Holleran smiled bitterly. "Much as I'd like to, Greg, it would cause more problems than it would solve. By the way, inform Auror Onasi that _he_ is still welcome in my station; he's earned that much."

"I'll tell Ed; he'll pass that on," Greg promised.

For several minutes, the two men sat there in silence, each considering the turn life had taken. "I'm sorry, Sergeant," Holleran offered after a long moment.

Greg smiled ruefully. "I am, too, sir, but you're right. We can only take so much." One shoulder lifted in a shrug. "It _was_ quite a ride, though."

Holleran's bark of laughter was genuine. "I imagine it was, Sergeant Parker." Dark eyes regarded the shorter, stockier man. "Do you regret it?"

Greg considered that carefully, weighing the pros and cons, weighing every last twist since a British Auror had pounded on his door at three in the morning. "No, sir," he finally decided, looking up. "I don't regret a thing." He paused, searching for the words, then found them.

"Sir, if I changed only _one_ thing in the past three years, it would change _everything_."

Holleran inclined his head as he reached down, opened up a drawer, and pulled a bottle out. He poured two cups and offered one to Greg. The Sergeant lifted a hand in refusal and his superior smirked, set the cup down, and turned the bottle. _Sparkling Grape Juice_. "My daughter insisted," Commander Holleran explained.

With a tiny smile, Greg took the glass, cautiously sipping at it.

* * *

They were still sipping their glasses of grape juice – Greg still on his first and Holleran on his second – when Holleran's office door banged open. "Where are they?" Madame Locksley demanded, swooping in.

Commander Holleran was unconcerned. "I imagine your people have already located them in our station's cell block," he observed, turning his glass without looking up. "But if you're looking for the Auror badges…" The Commander nudged the shopping bag he'd collected all sixteen SRU Auror badges in forward. "Here you are."

Greg glanced up to see Madame Locksley's expression: she was furious. "I should _Obliviate_ you," she hissed at Holleran.

The Sergeant rose, turning so that he was between his commander and Locksley. "I wouldn't," Greg warned softly, bringing his gauntlets up. "I can never tell if my armor will _absorb_ a curse or _deflect_ it." Tilting his head, Greg added, "But if you want to _risk_ it…be my guest."

For a second, Greg thought the witch _would_ risk it, then she stared at her _former_ subordinate's angry hazel gaze and stepped back. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Sergeant Parker."

Greg looked in her eyes, his thoughts whirling. Yes, she was sorry, he could tell, but he suspected her sorrow had far more to do with losing Team One's talents than for any of her _own_ actions. "Sorry for what, Madame Locksley?" he questioned. "Sorry for how your people treated mine? Sorry for dangling _mio nipotes_ out in front of a lynch mob? Sorry for ignoring Sam even though he's your nephew? Or maybe sorry for agreeing to this whole experiment in the first place?"

She flinched. "Never for that," she replied.

The Sergeant shook his head. "I think that's the first honest thing you've said since you realized my commander wanted us out of your world, for good." She cringed again. "For the record: Apology _not_ accepted. Get out and don't come back."

Her face was pale, but her back was straight. "And what about your charges, hmm? What happens when the Unspeakables come for them?"

Parker saw red, that she would use his _nipotes_ as _blackmail_. He stepped forward, letting his Animagus form blaze in the depths of his eyes. "Get. Out."

After a moment, Madame Locksley dipped her head, jabbed her wand at the shopping bag; it flew to her; then she turned and walked away, closing Commander Holleran's office door behind her with a fierce _bang_.

Greg Parker let the tension drain for another second or two, then looked over his shoulder at his boss. Holleran's smile was mirthless. "Another drink, Greg?"

Parker shook his head. "I'd better not, sir," he replied ruefully. "I should head home and tell _mio nipotes_ what happened."

As Parker left, Commander Holleran watched his subordinate's shoulders straighten. He could almost see the stress of working in two worlds begin to melt away. Oh, the commander knew it would take time for his top team to readjust, hence his decision to let them have the rest of the week. Thoughtfully, Holleran poured another cup of grape juice and walked to his office window to watch as his Sergeant trailed out to his car to head home.

Behind him, the door opened again and a man stepped inside. "Well?" he inquired.

Holleran turned, regarding his visitor seriously. "You're playing a dangerous game," he pointed out. "And now my team can't help you."

The man shrugged, unconcerned. "This won't work with Team One still working magic-side," he informed the commander. "They've made more friends than even _they _know; friends who will be none too happy with what happened this week. I can _use_ that, as leverage. And Parker's got more magic than even _he_ knows."

Holleran's eyes narrowed. "_Is_ he a wizard?"

A rough, hoarse chuckle. "No. And he never will be," the man replied, running a hand through his hair. "But he's still a Calvin, just as much as those two kids are. For all _I_ know, he could've walked through any of the gateways, at any point of his life, even before those two showed up." A snort. "She can take the badges, but I don't think your team _needs_ 'em anymore…not to cross the gateways."

The commander considered this. "What now?"

His companion turned away. "Now we wait," he replied. "See if Moffet tips his hand."

"Moffet?"

Another snort. "You didn't _really_ think Locksley turned on your people out of the blue, did you?"

Holleran crossed his arms, gifting the other man with a skeptical look.

There was a short, bitter laugh as the man twisted back around. "Commander, if Locksley had wanted your people gone, she wouldn't have needed a _stunt_ like this to do it. Heck, if she didn't _believe_ in them, she never would've let Roy Lane have an Auror badge."

"Then what changed?"

"Don't know. Not yet," the man admitted. "But I will. In the meantime, your people _should_ be safe, but keep your eyes open. Moffet might not be…_content_…with _just_ getting them out of the way." The visitor turned to leave, then paused and added, "I'll be in touch, Commander Holleran."

Holleran watched the man leave, then looked out his window again, thinking hard. _This had better work…_

_~ Nec est finis ... est?_

* * *

Author note: The end...or is it?

I hope everyone enjoyed the latest installment in our series. Is it the end? We'll have to see. For the nonce, _we_ shall move onto "More Than Blood", starting Friday, March 29th 2019, right here in the main _Flashpoint_ archive.


End file.
